GIFT   OF 
MICHAEL  REESE 


\ 
N  V  7j 


THE 


PROSE     WORKS 


RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 


NEW  AND  REVISED  EDITION. 


IN    THREE    VOLUMES. 


V 

UNIVERSITY 


BOSTON: ' 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY. 
C&e  HtoersiUe  Press, 

1881. 


Entered  according  to  Acts  of  Congress,  in  the  years  1847, 1850. 1855, 1856, 1860,  and  1869, 
.  by  JAMES  MCNROB  &  Co.,  PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON,  &  Co.,  and  R.  W.  EMERSON,  in  the 
Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Oourt  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS:  JOHN  WILSON  &  SON, 
CAMBRIDGE. 


' 

; 

31 ' 


v/,2 
CONTENTS    OF    VOL.    H. 


REPRESENTATIVE    MEN. 

Pica 
"  I.    USES  OF  GREAT  MEN 

II.  PLATO;  OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER 

PLATO:  NEW  READINGS 43 

III.  SWEDEXBORG  J  OR,  THE  MYSTIC 

IV.  MONTAIGNE;  OR,  THE  SCEPTIC 79 

V.  SHAKESPEARE;  OR,  THE  POET  ,  \        ....         101  / 

VI.  NAPOLEON  ;  OR,  THE  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     .        .        .119 
VII.    GOETHE;  OR,  THE  WRITER        ......          139 

ENGLISH    TRAITS. 

I.  FIRST  VISIT  TO  ENGLAND      ......  159 

II.    VOYAGE  TO  ENGLAND 170 

III.  LAND 174 

IV.  RACE 179 

V.    ABILITY 194 

VI.  MANNERS 208 V 

VII.  TRUTH .        .        .215 

^VIII.    CHARACTER :  220  v 

IX.  COCKAYNE .    228 

X.  WEALTH 233 

XI.  ARISTOCRACY »    .        .  •    242 

XII.  UNIVERSITIES 255 


IV  CONTENTS. 

XIII.  RELIGION 263 

XIV.  LITERATURE 271 

XV.  THE  "  TIMES  " 285 

XVI.  STONEHENGE  ........  291 

XVII.  PERSONAL 300 

XVIII.  RESULT 304 

XIX.  SPEECH  'AT  MANCHESTER 309 

CONDUCT    OF    LIFE. 

**»•    I.  FATE      .  315 

^  II.  POWER 341 

III.  WEALTH 359 

IV.  CULTURE 383 

V.  BEHAVIOR .  403 

VI.  WORSHIP 421 

— »  VII.  CONSIDERATIONS  BY  THE  WAY        ....  445 

VIII.  BEAUTY 4G5 

IX.  ILLUSIONS  481 


REPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 


VOL.    II.  1 


I. 

USES  OF  GREAT   MEN 


UNIVERSITY, 


USES   OF   GREAT   MEN. 


IT  is  natural  to  believe  in  great  men.  If  the  companions 
of  our  childhood  should  turn  out  to  be  heroes,  and  their  con 
dition  regal,  it  would  not  surprise  us.  /All  mythology  opens 
vrith  demigods,  and  the  circumstance  is  nigh  and  poetic  ;  that 
is,  their  genius  is  paramount.  In  the  legends  of  the  Gautama, 
tjie  first  men  ate  the  earth,  and  found  it  deliciously  sweet. 

*  Nature  seems  to  exist  for  the  excellent.  The  world  is  iip- 
h'eld  by  the  veracity  of  good  men  :  they  make  the  earth  whole 
some.  They  who  lived  with  them  found  life  glad  and  nutri 
tious.  Life  is  sweet  and  tolerable  only  in  our  belief  in  such 
society ;  and  actually,  or  ideally,  we  manage  to  live  with  su 
periors.  We  call  our  children  and  our  lands  by  their  names. 
Their  names  are  wrought  into  the  verbs  of  language,  their 
works  and  effigies  are  in  our  houses,  and  every  circumstance 
of  the  day  recalls  an  anecdote  of  them. 

[The  search  after  the  great  men  is  the  dream  of  youth,  and 
the  most  serious  occupation  of  manhood.  We  travel  into  for 
eign  parts  to  find  his  works,  —  if  possible,  to  get  a  glimpse  of 
him.  But  we  are  put  oft'  with  fortune  instead.  You  say,  tho 
English  are  practical  ;  the  Germans  are  hospitable  ;  in  Valen 
cia,  the  climate  is  delicious  ;  and  in  the  hills  of  the  Sacramento, 
there  is  gold  for  the  gathering.  Yes,  but  I  do  not  travel  to 
find  comfortable,  rich,  and  hospitable  people,  or  clear  sky,  or 
iiiL:<'ts  that  cost  too  much.  But  if  there  were  any  magnet  that 
would  point  to  the  countries  and  houses  where  are  the  persons 
who  are  intrinsically  rich  and  powerful,  I  would  sell  all,  and 
buy  it,  and  put  myself  on  the  road  to-day.  , 

The  race  Lr<>es  with  us  on  their  creditT"rhe  knowledge  that 

in  the  city  is  a  man  who  invented  the  railroad,  raises  tin-  m  <i- 

it  of  all  the  citizens.      But  enormous  populations,  it'  they  be 

rs,  are  disgusting,  like  moving  cheese,  like  hills  of  ants, 

or  of  fleas,  —  the  more,  the  worse.\ 


6  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 

Our  religion  is  the  love  and  cherishing  of  these  patrons. 
The  gods  of  fable  are  the  shining  moments  of  great  men.  We 
run  all  our  vessels  into  one  mould.  Our  colossal  theologies  of 
Judaism,  Christism,  Buddhism,  Mahometism,  are  the  necessary 
and  structural  action  of  the  human  mind.  The  student  of 
history  is  like  a  man  going  into  a  warehouse  to  buy  cloths  or 
carpets.  He  fancies  he  has  a  new  article.  If  he  go  to  the 
factory,  he  shall  find  that  his  new  stuff  still  repeats  the  scrolls 
and  rosettes  which  are  found  on  the  interior  walls  of  the  pyra 
mids  of  Thebes.  Our  theism  is  the  purification  of  the  human 
mind.  Man  can  paint,  or  make,  or  think  nothing  but  man. 
He  believes  that  the  great  material  elements  had  their  origin 
from  his  thought.  And  our  philosophy  finds  one  essence  col 
lected  or  distributed. 

If  now  we  proceed  to  inquire  into  the  kinds  of  service  we 
derive  from  others,  let  us  be  warned  of  the  danger  of  modern 
studies,  and  begin  low  enough.  We  must  not  contend  against 
love,  or  deny  the  substantial  existence  of  other  people.  I 
know  not  what  would  happen  to  us.  We  have  social  strengths. 
Our  affection  towards  others  creates  a  sort  of  vantage  or  pur 
chase  which  nothing  will  supply.  I  can  do  that  by  another 
which  I  cannot  do  alone.  I  can  say  to  you  what  I  cannot  first 
say  to  myself.  Other  men  are  lenses  through  which  we  read 
our  own  minds.  Each  man  seeks  those  of  different  quality 
from  his  own,  and  such  as  are  good  of  their  kind  ;  that  is,  lie 
seeks  other  men,  and  the  otherest.  The  stronger  the  nature, 
the  more  it  is  reactive.  Let  us  have  the  quality  pure.  A 
little  genius  let  us  leave  alone.  A  main  difference  betwixt 
men  is,  whether  they  attend  their  own  affair  or  not.  Man  is 
that  noble  endogenous  plant  which  grows,  like  the  palm,  from 
within  outward.  His  own  affair,  though  impossible  to  others, 
he  can  open  with  celerity  and  in  sport.  It  is  easy  to  sugar  to 
be  sweet,  and  to  nitre  to  be  salt.  We  take  a  great  deal  of 
pains  to  waylay  and  entrap  that  which  of  itself  will  fall  into 
our  hands.  I  count  him  a  great  man  who  inhabits  a  higher 
sphere  of  thought,  into  which  other  men  rise  with  labor  and 
difficulty  ;  he  has  but  to  open  his  eyes  to  see  things  in  a  true 
light,  and  in  large  relations ;  whilst  they  must  make  painful 
corrections,  and  keep  a  vigilant  eye  on  many  sources  of  error. 
His  service  to  us  is  of  like  sort.  It  costs  a  beautiful  person 
no  exertion  to  paint  her  image  on  our  eyes  ;  yet  how  splendid 
is  that  benefit  !  It  costs  no  more  for  a  wise  soul  to  convey  his 


USES   OF   GREAT   MEN.  7 

quality  to  other  men.     And  every  one  can  do  his  best  thing  easi 
est.     "  Pen  de  moyens,  beaucoup  duffel"     He  is  great  who  is  / 
what  he  is  from  nature,  and  who  never  reminds  us  of  others. 

But  he  must  be  re-luted  to  us,  and  our  life  receive  from  him" 
some  promise  of  explanation.  I  cannot  tell  what  I  would 
know ;  but  I  have  observed  there  are  persons  who,  in  their 
character  and  actions,  answer  questions  which  I  have  not  skill 
to  put.  One  man  answers  some  question  which  none  of 
his  contemporaries  put,  and  is  isolated.  The  past  and  pass 
ing  religions  and  philosophies  answer  some  other  question. 
Certain  men  affect  us  as  rich  possibilities,  but  helpless  to  them 
selves  and  to  their  times,  —  the  sport,  perhaps,  of  some  instinct 
that  rules  in  the  air  ;  —  they  do  not  speak  to  our  want.  But 
the  great  are  near  ;  we  know  them  at  sight.  They  satisfy  ex 
pectation,  and  fall  into  place.  What  is  good  is  effective,  gen 
erative  ;  makes  for  itself  room,  food,  and  allies.  A  sound 
apple  produces  seed,  —  a  hybrid  does  not.  Is  a  man  in  his 
place,  he  is  constructive,  fertile,  magnetic,  inundating  armies 
with  his  purpose,  which  is  thus  executed.  The  river  makes  its 
own  shores,  and  each  legitimate  idea  makes  its  own  channels 
and  welcome,  —  harvests  for  food,  institutions  for  expression, 
weapons  to  light  with,  and  disciples  to  explain  it.  The  true 
artist  has  the  planet  for  his  pedestal  ;  the  adventurer,  after 
years  of  strife,  has  nothing  broader  than  his  own  shoes. 

( hir  common  discourse  respects  two  kinds  of  use  or  service 
from  superior  men.  Direct  giving  is  agreeable  to  the  early 
belief  of  men  ;  direct  giving  of  material  or  metaphysical  aid, 
as  of  health,  eternal  youth,  fine  senses,  arts  of  healing,  magi 
cal  power,  and  prophecy.  The  hoy  believes  there  is  a  teacher 
who  can  sell  him  wisdom.  Churches  believe  in  imputed  merit. 
But,  in  strictness,  we  are  not  much  cogni /ant  of  direct  serving. 
Man  is  endogenous,  and  education  is  his  unfolding.  The  aid 
we  have  from  others  is  mechanical,  compared  with  the  discov 
eries  of  nature  in  us.  \Vhat  is  thus  learned  is  delightful  in 
the  doinir,  and  the  effect  remains.  Right  ethics  are  central, 
and  go  from  the  soul  outward,  (iift  is  contrary  to  the  law  of 
the  universe.  Servinu1  <>th»rs  is  serving  us.  I  must  absolve 
me  to  myself.  *  Mind  thy  affair/  says  the  spirit  :  —  '  coxcomb, 
would  you  meddle  with  the  skies,  or  with  other  people '? '  In 
direct  service  is  left.  Men  have  a  pictorial or  ivpre-sentaf  ivo 
quality,  and  serve  us  in  the  intellect.  Behmen  and  Swedni- 
bi  irur  saw  that  thiiiLTs  were  representative.  Men  are  also  n-p- 
resentativti  •  first,  of  things,  and  secondly,  of  ideas. 


8  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

As  plants  convert  the  minerals  into  food  for  animals,  so 
each  man  converts  some  raw  material  in  nature  to  human  use. 
The  inventors  of  fire,  electricity,  magnetism,  iron,  lead,  glass, 
linen,  silk,  cotton ;  the  makers  of  tools  ;  the  inventor  of  deci 
mal  notation  ;  the  geometer  ;  the  engineer  ;  the  musician,  — 
severally  make  an  easy  way  for  all,  through  unknown  and  im 
possible  confusions.  Each  man  is,  by  secret  liking,  connected 
with  some  district  of  nature,  whose  agent  and  interpreter  he 
is,  as  Linna3us,  of  plants ;  Huber,  of  bees  ;  Fries,  of  lichens  ; 
Van  Mons,  of  pears  ;  Dalton,  of  atomic  forms ;  Euclid,  of 
lines  ;  Newton,  of  fluxions. 

A  man  is  a  centre  for  nature,  running  out  threads  of  rela 
tion  through  everything,  fluid  and  solid,  material  and  element 
al.  The  earth  rolls ;  every  clod  and  stone  comes  to  the  me 
ridian  :  so  every  organ,  function,  acid,  crystal,  grain  of  dust, 
has  its  relation  to  the  brain.  It  waits  long,  but  its  turn 
comes.  Each  plant  has  its  parasite,  and  each  created  thing 
its  lover  and  poet.  Justice  has  already  been  done  to  steam, 
to  iron,  to  wood,  to  coal,  to  loadstone,  to  iodine,  to  corn,  and 
cotton  :  but  how  few  materials  are  yet  used  by  our  arts  !  The 
mass  of  creatures  and  of  qualities  are  still  hid  and  expectant. 
It  would  seem  as  if  each  waited,  like  the  enchanted  princess  in 
fairy  tales,  for  a  destined  human  deliverer.  Each  must  be 
disenchanted,  and  walk  forth  to  the  day  in  human  shape.  In 
the  history  of  discovery,  the  ripe  and  latent  truth  seems  to 
have  fashioned  a  brain  for  itself.  A  magnet  must  be  made 
man.  in  some  Gilbert,  or  Swedenborg,  or  Oersted,  before  the 
general  mind  can  come  to  entertain  its  powers. 

If  we  limit  ourselves  to  the  first  advantages  ;  —  a  sober  grace 
adheres  to  the  mineral  and  botanic  kingdoms,  which,  in  the 
highest  moments,  comes  up  as  the  charm  of  nature,  —  the 
glitter  of  the  spar,  the  sureness  of  affinity,  the  veracity  of  an 
gles.  Light  and  d.nrkness,  heat  and  cold,  hunger  and  food, 
sweet  and  sour,  solid,  liquid,  and  gas,  circle  us  round  in  a 
wreath  of  pleasures,  and,  by  their  agreeable  quarrel,  beguile 
the  day  of  life.  The  eye  repeats  every  day  the  first  eulogy  on 
things,  —  "He  saw  that  they  were  good."  We  know  where  to 
find  them  ;  and  these  performers  are  relished  all  the  more,  af 
ter  a  little  experience  of  the  pretending  races.  We  are  enti 
tled,  also,  to  higher  advantages.  Something  is  wanting  to 
science,  until  it  has  been  humanized.  The  table  of  logarithms 
is  one  thing,  and  its  vital  play  in  botany,  music,  optics,  and 
architecture,  another.  There  are  advancements  to  numbers, 


USES   OF   GREAT   MEN.  9 

anatomy,  architecture,  astronomy,  little  suspected  at  first, 
when,  by  union  with  intellect  and  will,  they  ascend  into  the 
life,  and  reappear  in  conversation,  character,  and  politics. 

But  this  comes  later.  We  speak  now  only  of  our  acquaint 
ance  with  them  in  their  own  sphere,  and  the  way  in  which 
they  seem  to  fascinate  and  draw  to  them  some  genius  who  oc 
cupies  himself  with  one  thing,  all  his  life  long.  The  possibil 
ity  of  interpretation  lies  in  the  identity  of  the  observer  with 
the  observed.  Kurh  material  thing  has  its  celestial  side;  has 
its  translation, Through  humanity,  into  the  spiritual  and  neces 
sary  sphere,  where  it  plays  a  part  as  indestructible  as  any 
other.  And  to  these,  their  ends,  all  things  continually  ascend. 
The  gases  gather  to  the  solid  firmament  :  the  chemic  lump  ar 
rives  at  the  plant,  and  grows ;  arrives  at  the  quadruped,  and 
walks;  arrives  at  the  man,  and  thinks.  But  also  the  constitu 
ency  determines  the  vote  of  the  representative.  He  is  not 
only  representative,  but  participant.  Like  can  only  be  known 
by  like.  The  reason  why  he  knows  about  them  is,  that  he  is 
of  them  ;  he  has  just  come  out  of  nature,  or  from  being  a  part 
of  that  thing.  Animated  chlorine  knows  of  chlorine,  and  incar 
nate  zinc,  of  zinc.  Their  quality  makes  his  career ;  and  he 
can  variously  publish  their  virtues,  because  they  compose  him. 
Man,  made  of  the  dust  of  the  world,  does  not  forget  his  origin; 
and  all  that  is  yet  inanimate  will  one  day  speak  and  reason. 
Unpublished  nature  will  have  its  whole  secret  told.  Shall 
we  say  that  quartz  mountains  will  pulverize  into  innumerable 
Werners,  Von  Buchs,  and  Beaumont s  ;  and  the  laboratory  of 
the  atmosphere  holds  in  solution  I  know  not  what  Berzeliuses 
and  Davys] 

Thus,  we  sit  by  the  fire,  and  take  hold  on  the  poles  of  the 
earth.  This  qna.n  omnipresence  supplies  the  imbecility  of 
our  condition.  In  one  of  those  celestial  days,  when  heaven 
and  earth  meet  and  adorn  each  other,  it  seems  a  poverty  that 
we  can  only  spend  it  once  :  we  wish  for  a  thousand  heads,  a 
thousand  bodies,  that  we  might  celebrate  its  immense  beauty 
in  many  ways  and  places.  Is  this  fancy1?  Well,  in  good 
faith,  we  are  multiplied  by  our  proxies.  How  easily  we  adopt 
their  labors  !  Every  ship  that  comes  to  America  got  its  chart 
from  Columbus,  Every  novel  is  a  debtor  to  Homer.  Every 
carpenter  who  shaves  with  a  foreplane  borrows  the  genius  of  ;i 
forgotten  inventor.  Life  is  girt  all  round  with  a  x.odiac  of 
sciences,  the  contributions  of  men  who  have  perished  to  add 
their  point  of  light  to  our  sky.  Engineer,  broker,  jurist, 
1* 


10  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

physician,  moralist,  theologian,  and  every  man,  inasmuch  as 
he  has  any  science,  is  a  definer  and  map-maker  of  the  latitudes 
and  longitudes  of  our  condition.  These  road-makers  on  every 
hand  enrich  us.  We  must  extend  the  area  of  life,  and  multi 
ply  our  relations.  We  are  as  much  gainers  by  finding  a  new 
property  in  the  old  earth,  as  by  acquiring  a  new  planet. 

We  are  too  passive  in  the  reception  of  these  material  or 
semi-material  aids.  We  must  not  be  sacks  and  stomachs.  To 
ascend  one  step, —  we  are  better  served  through  our  sympathy. 
Activity  is  contagious.  Looking  where  others  look,  and  con 
versing  with  the  same  things,  we  catch  the  charm  which  lured 
them.  Napoleon  said,  "You  must  not  fight  too  often  with 
one  enemy,  or  you  will  teach  him  all  your  art  of  war."  Talk 
much  with  any  man  of  vigorous  mind,  and  we  acquire  very 
fast  the  habit  of  looking  at  things  in  the  same  light,  and,  on 
each  occurrence,  we  anticipate  his  thought. 

Men  are  helpful  through  the  intellect  and  the  affections. 
Other  help,  I  find  a  false  appearance.  If  you  affect  to  give 
me  bread  and  fire,  I  perceive  that  I  pay  for  it  the  full  price, 
and  at  last  it  leaves  me  as  it  found  me,  neither  better  nor 
worse  :  but  all  mental  and  moral  force  is  a  positive  good.  It 
goes  out  from  you,  whether  you  will  or  not,  and  profits  me 
whom  you  never  thought  of.  I  cannot  even  hear  of  personal 
vigor  of  any  kind,  great  power  of  performance,  without  fresh 
resolution.  We  are  emulous  of  all  that  man  can  do.  Cecil's 
saying  of  Sir  Walter  .Raleigh,  "  I  know  that  he  can  toil  terri 
bly,"  is  an  electric  touch.  So  are  Clarendon's  portraits,  —  of 
Hampden ;  "  who  was  of  an  industry  and  vigilance  not  to  be 
tired  out  or  wearied  by  the  most  laborious,  and  of  parts  not 
to  be  imposed  on  by  the  most  subtle  and  sharp,  and  of  a  per 
sonal  courage  equal  to  his  best  parts,"  —  of  Falkland  ;  "  who 
was  so  severe  an  adorer  of  truth,  that  he  could  as  easily  have 
given  himself  leave  to  steal,  as  to  dissemble."  We  cannot 
read  Plutarch,  without  a  tingling  of  the  blood ;  and  I  accept 
the  saying  of  the  Chinese  Mencius  :  "  A  sage  is  the  instructor 
of  a  hundred  ages.  When  the  manners  of  Loo  are  heard  of, 
the  stupid  become  intelligent,  and  the  wavering,  determined." 

This  is  the  moral  of  biography  ;  yet  it  is  hard  for  departed 
men  to  touch  the  quick  like  our  own  companions,  whose  names 
mny  not  last  as  long.  What  is  he  whom  I  never  think  of  1 
whilst  in  every  solitude  are  those  who  succor  our  genius,  and 
stimulate  us  in  wonderful  manners.  There  is  a  power  in  love 
to  divine  another's  destiny  better  than  that  other  can,  and,  by 


USES   OF   GREAT   MEN.  11 

heroic  encouragements,  hold  him  to  his  task.  What  lias 
friendship  so  signal  as  its  sublime  attraction  to  whatever  vir 
tue  is  in  us  I  We  will  never  more  think  cheaply  of  ourselves, 
<»•  of  life.  \Ve  are  piqued  to  some  purpose,  and  the  industry 
of  the  diggers  on  the  railroad  will  not  again  shame  us. 

I" ndrr  this  head,  too,  falls  that  homage,  very  pure,  as  I 
think,  which  all  ranks  pay  to  the  hero  of  the  day,  from  Corio- 
lanus  and  (Iracchus,  down  to  Pitt,  Lafayette,  Wellington, 
Webster,  Lamartine.  Hear  the  shouts  in  the  street !  The 
people  cannot  see  him  enough.  They  delight  in  a  man.  Here 
is  a  head  and  a  trunk  !  What  a  front  !  what  eyes  !  Atlantean 
shoulders,  and  the  whole  carriage  heroic,  with  equal  inward 
force  to  guide  the  great  machine  !  This  pleasure  of  full  ex- 
ion  to  that  which,  in  their  private  experience,  is  usually 
cramped  and  obstructed,  runs,  also,  much  higher,  and  is  the 
secret  of  the  reader's  joy  in  literary  genius.  Nothing  is  kept 
back.  There  is  fire  enough  to  fuse  the  mountain  of  ore. 
Shakespeare's  principal  merit  may  be  conveyed,  in  saying  that 
he,  of  all  men,  best  understands  the  English  language,  and 
can  say  what  he  will.  Yet  these  unchokcd  channels  and 
floodgates  of  expression  are  only  health  or  fortunate  consti 
tution.  Shakespeare's  name  suggests  other  and  purely  intel 
lectual  benefits. 

Si-nates  and  sovereigns  have  no  compliment,  with  their 
medals,  swords,  and  armorial  coats,  like  the  addressing  to  a 
human  being  thoughts  out  of  a  certain  height,  and  presup 
posing  his  intelligence.  This  honor,  which  is  possible  in  per 
sonal  intercourse  scarcely  twice  in  a  lifetime,  genius  per 
petually  pays;  contented,  if  now  and  then,  in  a  centurv.  the. 
proffer  is  accepted.  The  indicators  of  the  values  of  matter 
arc  degraded  to  a  sort  of  cooks  and  confectioners,  on  the  ap 
pearance  of  the  indicators  of  ideas.  Genius  is  the  naturalist 
or  geographer  of  the  supersensible  regions,  and  draws  their 
map;  and,  by  acquainting  us  with  new  iields  of  activitv,  cools 
our  affection  for  the  old.  These  are  at  once  accepted  as  the 
reality,  of  which  the  world  we  have  conversed  with  is  the 
show. 

We  go  to  the  gymnasium  and  the  swimming-school  to  see 
the  power  and  beauty  of  the  body  :  there  is  the  like  pleasure, 
and  a  higher  benefit,  from  witnessing  intellectual  feats  of  all 
kinds  ;  as,  feats  of  memory,  of  mathematical  combination, 
great  power  of  abstraction,  the  transniutinirs  of  the  imagina 
tion*,  even  versatility,  and  concentration,  as  these  acts  e.\p<>so 


12  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

the  invisible  organs  and  members  of  the  mind,  which  respond, 
member  for  member,  to  the  parts  of  the  body.  For,  we  thus 
enter  a  new  gymnasium,  and  learn  to  choose  men  by  their 
truest  marks,  taught,  with  Plato,  "  to  choose  those  who  can, 
without  aid  from  the  eyes,  or  any  other  sense,  proceed  to  truth 
and  to  being."  Foremost  among  these  activities,  are  the  sum 
mersaults,  spells,  and  resurrections  wrought  by  the  imagina- 
tion.  When  this  wakes,  a  man  seems  to  multiply  ten  times 
or  a  thousand  times  his  force.  It  opens  the  delicious  sense 
of  indeterminate  size,  and  inspires  an  audacious  mental  habit. 
We  are  as  elastic  as  the  gas  of  gunpowder,  and  a  sentence  in 
a  book,  or  a  word  dropped  in  conversation,  sets  free  our  fancy, 
and  instantly  our  heads  are  bathed  with  galaxies,  and  our  feet 
tread  the  floor  of  the  Pit.  And  this  benefit  is  real,  because 
we  are  entitled  to  these  enlargements,  and,  once  having  passed 
the  bounds,  shall  never  again  be  quite  the  miserable  pedants 
we  were. 

The  high  functions  of  the  intellect  are  so  allied,  that  some 

•  imaginative  power  usually  appears  in  all  eminent  minds,  even 
in  arithmeticians  of  the  first  class,  but  especially  in  meditative 
men  of  an  intuitive  habit  of  thought.  This  class  serve  us,  so 
that  they  have  the  perception  of  identity  and  the  perception 
of  reaction.  The  eyes  of  Plato,  Shakespeare,  Swedenborg, 
Goethe,  never  shut  on  either  of  these  laws.  The  perception 
of  these  laws  is  a  kind  of  metre  of  the  rnind.  Little  minds 
are  little,  through  failure  to  see  them. 

Even  these  feasts  have  their  surfeit.  Our  delight  in  reason 
degenerates  into  idolatry  of  the  herald.  Especially  when  a 
mind  of  powerful  method  has  instructed  men,  we  find  the 
examples  of  oppression.  The  dominion  of  Aristotle,  the 
Ptolemaic  astronomy,  the  credit  of  Luther,  of  Bacon,  of 
Locke,  —  in  religion,  the  history  of  hierarchies,  of  saints, 
and  the  sects  which  have  taken  the  name  of  each  founder, 
are  in  point.  Alas  !  every  man  is  such  a  victim.  The  inv 
becility  of  men  is  always  inviting  the  impudence  of  power.  It 
is  the  delight  of  vulgar  talent  to  dazzle  and  to  blind  the  be^ 
holder.  But  true  genius  seeks  to  defend  us  from  itself.  True 
genius  will  not  impoverish,  but  will  liberate,  and  add  new 

(  senses.  If  a  wise  man  should  appear  in  our  village,  he  would 
create,  in  those  who  conversed  with  him,  a  new  consciousness 
of  wealth,  by  opening  their  eyes  to  unobserved  advantages  j 
he  would  establish  a  sense  of  immovable  equality,  calm  us 
with  assurances  that  we  could  not  be  cheated  ;  as  every  on* 


USES   OF   GREAT   MEN.  13 

would  discern  the  checks  and  guaranties  of  condition.  The  / 
rich  would  see  their  mistakes  and  poverty,  the  poor  their ) 
escapes  and  their  resources. 

But  nature  brings  all  this  about  in  due  time.  Rotation  is 
her  remedy.  The  soul  is  impatient  of  masters,  and  eager  for 
change.  Housekeepers  say  of  a  domestic  who  has  been  valu 
able,  She  had  lived  with  me  long  enough.  We  are  tendencies, 
or  rather,  symptoms,  and  none  of  us  complete.  We  touch 
and  go,  and  sip  the  foam  of  many  lives.  Rotation  is  the  law 
of  nature.  When  nature  removes  a  great  man,  people  explore 
the  horizon  for  a  successor ;  but  none  comes,  and  none  will. 
His  class  is  extinguished  with  him.  In  some  other  and  quite 
different  field,  the  next  man  will  appear ;  not  Jefferson,  not 
Franklin,  but  now  a  great  salesman  ;  then  a  road-contractor  ; 
then  a  student  of  fishes  ;  then  a  buffalo-hunting  explorer  ;  or 
a  semi-savage  Western  general.  Thus  we  make  a  stand  against 
our  rougher  masters  ;  but  against  the  best  there  is  a  finer 
remedy.  The  power  which  they  communicate  is  not  theirs. 
When  we  are  exalted  by  ideas,  we  do  not  owe  this  to  Plato, 
but  to  the  idea,  to  which  also  Plato  was  debtor. 

I  must  not  forget  that  we  have  a  special  debt  to  a  single 
class.  Life  is  a  scale  of  degrees.  Between  rank  and  rank  of 
our  great  men  are  wide  intervals.  Mankind  have,  in  all  ages,* 
attached  themselves  to  a  few  persons,  who,  either  by  thel 
quality  of  that  idea  they  embodied,  or  by  the  largeness  of  their 
reception,  were  entitled  to  the  position  of  leaders  and  lawgiv-k 
ers.  These  teach  us  the  qualities  of  primary  nature,  —  admit 
us  to  the  constitution  of  things.  We  swim  day  by  day  on  a 
river  of  delusions,  and  are  effectually  amused  with  houses  and 
towns  in  the  air,  of  which  the  men  about  us  are  dupes.  But 
life  is  a  sincerity.  In  lucid  intervals  we  say,  '  Let  there  be  an 
entrance  opened  for  me  into  realities ;  I  have  worn  the  fool's 
cap  too  long.'  We  will  know  the  meaning  of  our  economies 
and  politics.  Give  us  the  cipher,  and,  if  persons  and  things 
are  scores  of  a  celestial  music,  let  us  read  off  the  strains.  We 
have  been  cheated  of  our  reason  ;  yet  there  have  been  sane  men, 
who  enjoyed  a  rich  and  related  existence.  What  they  know, 
they  know  for  us.  With  each  new  mind,  a  new  secret  of 
nature  transpires  ;  nor  can  the  Bible  be  closed,  until  the  last 
great  man  is  born.  These  men  correct  the  delirium  of  the 
animal  spirits,  make  us  considerate,  and  engage  us  to  new  aims 
and  powers.  The  veneration  of  mankind  selects  these  for  the 
highest  place.  Witness  the  multitude  of  statues,  pictures, 


14  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 

and  memorials  which  recall  their  genius  in  every  city,  village, 
house,  and  ship  :  — 

"  Ever  their  phantoms  arise  before  us, 
Our  loftier  brothers,  but  one  in  blood  ; 
At  bed  and  table  they  lord  it  o'er  us, 

-  With  looks  of  beauty,  and  words  of  good." 

How  to  illustrate  the  distinctive  benefit  of  ideas,  the  service 
rendered  by  those  who  introduce  moral  truths  into  the  general 
mind  1  —  I  am  plagued,  in  all  my  living,  with  a  perpetual 
tariff  of  prices.  If  I  work  in  my  garden  and  prune  an  apple' 
tree.  I  am  well  enough  entertained,  and  could  continue  in 
definitely  in  the  like  occupation.  But  it  comes  to  mind  that 
a  day  is  gone,  and  I  have  got  this  precious  nothing  done.  I 
go  to  Boston  or  New  York,  and  run  up  and  down  on  my  af 
fairs  :  they  are  sped,  but  so  is  the  day.  I  am  vexed  by  the 
recollection  of  this  price  I  have  paid  for  a  trifling  advantage. 
I  remember  the  peau  (Fane,  on  which  whoso  sat  should  have 
his  desire,  but  a  piece  of  the  skin  was  gone  for  every  wish.  I  go 
to  a  convention  of  philanthropists.  Do  what  I  can,  I  cannot 
keep  my  eyes  off  the  clock.  But  if  there  should  appear  in  the 
company  some  gentle  soul  who  knows  little  of  persons  or 
parties,  of  Carolina  or  Cuba,  but  who  announces  a  law  that 
disposes  these  particiilars,  and  so  certifies  me  of  the  equity 
which  checkmates  every  false  player,  bankrupts  every  self- 
seeker,  and  apprises  me  of  my  independence  on  any  conditions 
of  country,  or  time,  or  human  body,  that  man  liberates  me  ;  I  for 
get  the  clock  ;  I  pass  out  of  the  sore  relation  to  persons ;  I  am 
healed  of  my  hurts  ;  I  am  made  immortal  by  apprehending 
my  possession  of  incorruptible  goods.  Here  is  great  competi 
tion  of  rich  and  poor.  We  live  in  a  market,  where  is  only  so 
much  wheat,  or  wool,  or  land  ;  and  if  I  have  so  much  more, 
every  other  must  have  so  much  less.  I  seem  to  have  no  good, 
without  breach  of  good  manners.  Nobody  is  glad  in  the  glad 
ness  of  another,  and  our  system  is  one  of  war,  of  an  injurious 
superiority.  Every  child  of  the  Saxon  race  is  educated  to  wish 
to  be  first.  It  is  our  system ;  and  a  man  comes  to  measure 
his  greatness  by  the  regrets,  envies,  and  hatreds  of  his  com 
petitors.  But  in  these  now  fields  there  is  room  :  here  are  no 
self-esteems,  no  exclusions. 

I  admire  great  men  of  all  classes,  those  who  stand  for  facts, 
and  for  thoughts  ;  I  like  rough  and  smooth,  "  Scourgers  of 
God,"  and  "Darlings  of  the  human  race."  I  like  the  first 
Caesar ;  and  Charles  V.,  of  Spain ;  and  Charles  XII.,  of  Swe- 


USES   OF   GREAT   MEN.  15 

den  ;  Richard  Plantagenet ;  and  Bonaparte,  in  France.  I  ap 
plaud  a  sufficient  man,  an  officer.equal  to  his  office  ;  captains, 
ministers,  senators.  I  like  a  master  standing  firm  on  legs  of 
iron,  well-born,  rich,  handsome,  eloquent,  loaded  with  advan 
tages,  drawing  all  men  l>y  fascination  into  tributaries  and  sup 
porters  of  his  power.  Sword  and  staff,  or  talents  sword-like 
or  stall-like,  carry  on  the  work  of  the  world.  But  I  find  him 
greater,  when  lie  can  abolish  himself,  and  all  heroes,  by  letting 
in  this  clement  of  reason,  irrespective  of  persons;  this  sub- 
tilizcr,  and  irresistible1  upward  force,  into  our  thought,  destroy 
ing  individualism;  the  power  so  great,  that  the  potentate  is 
nothing.  Then  he  is  a  monarch,  who  gives  a  constitution  to 
his  people;  a  pontilf,  who  preaches  the  equality  of  souls,  and 
releases  his  servants  from  their  barbarous  homages ;  an  em 
peror,  who  can  spare  his  empire. 

But  I  intended  to  specify,  with  a  little  minuteness,  two  or 
three  points  of  service.  Nature  never  spares  the  opium  or 
nepenthe  ;  but,  wherever  she  mars  her  creature  with  some  de 
formity  or  defect,  lays  her  poppies  plentifully  on  the  bruise, 
and  the  sufferer  goes  joyfully  through  life,  ignorant  of  the 
ruin,  and  incapable  of  seeing  it,  though  all  the  world  point 
their  finger  at  it  every  day.  The  worthless  and  offensive 
members  of  society,  whose  existence  is  a  social  pest,  invariably 
think  themselves  the  most  ill-used  people  alive,  and  never  get- 
over  their  astonishment  at  the  ingratitude  and  selfishness  of 
their  contemporaries.  Our  globe  discovers  its  hidden  virtues, 
not  only  in  heroes  and  archangels,  but  in  gossips  and  nurses. 
Is  it  not  a  rare  contrivance  that  lodged  the  due  inertia  in 
every  creature,  the  conserving,  resisting  energy,  the  anger  at 
being  waked  or  changed  1  Altogether  independent  of  the  in 
tellectual  force  in  each,  is  the  pride  of  opinion,  the  security 
that  we  arc  right.  Not  the  feeblest  grandame,  not  a  mowing 
idiot,  but  uses  what  spark  of  perception"  and  faculty  is  left,  to 
chuckle  and  triumph  in  his  or  her  opinion  over  the  absurdities  of 
all  the  rest.  Difference  from  me  is  the  measure  of  absurdity. 
Not  one  has  a  misgiving  of  being  wroiiLT.  Was  it  not  a  bright 
thought  that  made  tilings  cohere  with  this  bitumen,  fastot 
of  cements'?  But,  in  the  midst  of  this  chuckle  of  self-gratula- 
tion,  some  figure  goes  by,  which  Thersites  too  can  love  and 
admire.  This  is  he  that  should  marshal  us  the  way  we  were 
going.  There  is  no  end  to  his  aid.  Without  Plato,  we  should 
almost  lose  our  faith  in  the  possibility  of  a  reasonable  book. 


16  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

We  seem  to  want  but  one,  but  we  want  one.  We  love  to  as 
sociate  with  heroic  persons,  since  our  receptivity  is  unlimited  ; 
and,,  with  the  great,  our  thoughts  and  manners  easily  become 
greaj}.  We  are  all  wise  in  capacity,  though  so  few  in  energy. 
There  needs  but  one  wise  man  in  a  company,  and  all  are  wise, 
so  rapid  is  the  contagion. 

Great  men  are  thus  a  collyriuni  to  clear  our  eyes  from  ego 
tism,  and  enable  us  to  see'  other  people  and  their  works.  But 
there  are  vices  and  follies  incident  to  whole  populations  and 
ages.  Men  resemble  their  contemporaries,  even  more  than 
their  progenitors.  It  is  observed  in  old  couples,  or  in  persons 
who  have  been  housemates  for  a  course  of  years,  that  they 
grow  alike  ;  and,  if  they  should  live  long  enough,  we  should 
not  be  able  to  know  them  apart.  Nature  abhors  these  com 
plaisances,  which  threaten  to  melt  the  world  into  a  lump,  and 
hastens  to  break  up  such  maudlin  agglutinations.  The  like 
assimilation  goes  on  between  men  of  one  town,  of  one  sect,  of 
one  political  party  ;  and  the  ideas  of  the  time  are  in  the  air, 
and  infect  all  who  breathe  it.  Viewed  from  any  high  point, 
this  city  of  New  York,  yonder  city  of  London,  the  Western 
civilization,  would  seem  a  bundle  of  insanities.  We  keep  each 
other  in  countenance,  and  exasperate  by  emulation  the  frenzy 
of  the  time.  The  shield  against  the  stingings  of  conscience, 
is  the  universal  practice,  or  our  contemporaries.  Again  ;  it  is 
very  easy  to  be  as  wise  and  good  as  your  companions.  We 
learn  of  our  contemporaries  what  they  know,  without  effort, 
and  almost  through  the  pores  of  the  skin.  We  catch  it  by 
sympathy,  or,  as  a  wife  arrives  at  the  intellectual  and  moral 
elevations  of  her  husband.  But  we  stop  where  they  stop. 
Very  hardly  can  we  take  another  step.  The  great,  or  such  as 
hold  of  nature,  and  transcend  fashions,  by  their  fidelity  to 
universal  ideas,  are  saviors  from  these  federal  errors,  and  defend 
us  from  our  contemporaries.  They  are  the  exceptions  which 
we  want,  where  all  grows  alike.  A  foreign  greatness  is  the 
antidote  for  cabalism. 

Thus  we  feed  on  genius,  and  refresh  ourselves  from  too  much 
conversation  with  our  mates,  and  exnlt  in  the  depth  of  nature 
in  that  direction  in  which  he  leads  us.  What  indemnification 
is  one  great  man  for  populations  of  pygmies  ?  Every  mother 
wishes  one  son  a  genius,  though  all  the  rest  should  be  mediocre. 
But  a  new  danger  appears  in  the  excess  of  influence  of  the 
great  man.  •  His  attractions  warp  us  from  our  place.  We 
have  become  underlings  and  intellectual  suicides.  Ah  !  yonder 


USES   OF   GREAT   MEN.  17 

in  the  horizon  is  our  help  ;  —  other  great  men,  new  qualities, 
counterweights  and  checks  on  each  other.  We  cloy  of  the 
honey  of  each  peculiar  greatness.  Every  hero  becomes  a  hon; 
at4ast«_  Perhaps  Voltaire  was  not  bad-hearted,  yet  lie  said  of 
the  good  Jesus,  even,  "  I  pray  you,  let  me  never  hour  that 
man's  name  again."  They  cry  up  the  virtues  of  George 
Washington,  —  "Damn  George  Washington!"  is  the  poor 
Jacobin's  whole  speech  and  confutation.  But  it  is  human  v 
nature's  indispensable  defence.  The  eentripetence  augments 
the  centrifugenec.  We  balance  one  man  with  his  opposite,  and 
the  health  of  the  state  depends  on  the  see-saw. 

There  is,  however,  a  speedy  limit  to  the  use  of  heroes. 
Every  genius  is  defended  from  approach  by  quantities  of 
unavailableness.  They  are  very  attractive,  and  seem  at  a  dis 
tance  our  own  ;  but  we  are  hindered  on  all  sides  from  approach. 
The  more  we  are  drawn,  the  more  we  are  repelled.  There  is 
something  not  solid  in  the  good  that  is  done  for  us.  The  best 
discovery  the  discoverer  makes  for  himself.  It  has  something 
unreal  for  his  companion,  until  he  too  has  substantiated  it.  It 
set -ins  as  if  the  Deity  dressed  each  soul  which  he  sends  into 
nature  in  certain  virtues  and  powers  not  communicable  to 
other  men,  and,  sending  it  to  perform  one  more  turn  through 
the  circle  of  beings,  wrote  "  Not  tr(in*t'<-r'tltlc"  and  "  Good  for 
thif  trip  only"  on  these  garments  of  the  soul.  There  is  some 
what  deceptive  about  the  intercourse  of  minds.  The  bound 
aries  are  invisible,  but  they  are  never  crossed.  There  is  such 

!  will  to  impart,  and  such  good-will  to  receive,  that   each   - 
threatens  to  become  the  other  ;  but  the  law  of  individuality 
collects  its  secret  strength ;  you  arc  you,  and  I  am  I,  and  so 
we  remain. 

For  nature  wishes  everything  to  remain  itself;  and,  whilst 
every  individual  strives  to  grow  and  exclude,  and  to  exclude 
and  grow,  to  the  extremities  of  the  universe,  and  to  impose  the 
law  of  its  being  on  every  other  creature,  Nature  steadily  aims 
to  protect  each  against  every  other.  Kach  is  self-defended 
Nothing  is  more  marked  than  the  power  by  which  individuals 
arc  guarded  from  individuals,  in  a  world  where  every  benefac 
tor  becomes  so  easily  a  malefactor,  only  by  continuation  of  his 
activity  into  places  where  it  is  not  due  ;  where  children  seem 
inch  at  the  mercy  of  their  foolish  parents,  and  where  almost 
all  men  are  too  social  and  interfering.  We  ri^htlv  speak  of 
the  guardian  angels  of  children.  How  superior  in  their  security 
from  infusions  of  evil  persons,  from  vulgarity  and  second 


18  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

thought !  They  shed  their  own  ubundant  beauty  on  the  ob 
jects  they  behold.  Therefore,  they  are  not  at  the  mercy  of 
such  poor  educators  as  we  adults.  If  we  huff  and  chide  them, 
they  soon  come  not  to  mind  it,  and  get  a  self-reliance  ;  and  if 
we  indulge  them  to  folly,  they  learn  the  limitation  elsewhere. 
We  need  not  fear  excessive  influence.  A  more  generous 
trust  is  permitted.  Serve  the  great.  Stick  at  no  humiliation. 
Grudge  no  office  thou  canst  render.  Be  the  limb  of  their 
body,  the  breath  of  their  mouth.  Compromise  thy  egotism. 
Who  cares  for  that,  so  thou  gain  aught  wider  and  nobler  ? 
Never  mind  the  taunt  of  Boswellism  :  the  devotion  may  easily 
be  greater  than  the  wretched  pride  which  is  guarding  its  own 
skirts.  Be  another  :  not  thyself,  but  a  Platonist ;  not  a  soul, 
but  a  Christian  ;  not  a  naturalist,  but  a  Cartesian;  not  a  poet, 
but  a  Shakespearian.  In  vain,  the  wheels  of  tendency  will  not 
stop,  nor  will  all  the  forces  of  inertia,  fear,  or  of  love  itself, 
hold  thee  there.  On,  and  forever  onward !  The  microscope 
observes  a  monad  or  wheel-insect  among  the  infusories  circu 
lating  in  water.  Presently,  a  dot  appears  on  the  animal, 
which  enlarges  to  a  slit,  and  it  becomes  two  perfect  animals. 
The  ever-proceeding  detachment  appears  not  less  in  all 
thought,  and  in  soricty.  Children  think  they  cannot  live 
without  their  parents.  But,  long  before  they  arc  aware  of  it, 
the  black  dot  has  appeared,  and  the  detachment  taken  place. 
Any  accident  will  now  reveal  to  them  their  independence. 

But  great  men:  —  the  word  is  injurious.  Is  there  caste1? 
is  there  fate  1  What  becomes  of  the  promise  to  virtue  1  The 
thoughtful  youth  laments  the  superfoctation  of  nature.  '  Gen 
erous  and  handsome,'  he  says,  '  is  your  hero  ;  but  look  at  yon 
der  poor  Paddy,  whose  country  is  his  wheelbarrow ;  look  at 
his  whole  nation  of  Paddies.'  Why  are  the  masses,  from  the 
dawn  of  history  down,  food  for  knives  and  powder  1  The  idea 
dignifies  a  few  leaders,  who  have  sentiment,  opinion,  love,  self- 
devotion  ;  and  they  make  war  and  death  sacred  ;  but  what 
for  the  wretches  whom  they  hire  and  kill  ?  The  cheapness  of 
man  is  every  day's  tragedy.  It  is  as  real  a  loss  that  others 
should  be  low,  as  that  we  should  be  low ;  for  we  must  have 
society. 

Is  it  a  reply  to  these  suggestions,  to  say,  society  is  a  Pesta- 

lozzian  school :  all  are  teachers  and  pupils  in  turn.     We  are 

Vequally  served  by  receiving  and  by  imparting.    Men  who  know 

the  same  things  are  not  long  the  best  company  for  each  other. 


USES   OF   GREAT   MEN.  19 

But  bring  to  each  an  intelligent  person  of  another  experience, 
and  it  is  as  if  you  let  off  water  from  a  lake,  by  cutting  a  lower 
basin.  It  seems  a  mechanical  advantage,  and  great  benefit  it 
is  to  each  speaker,  as  he  can  now  paint  out  his  thought  to 
himself.  We  pass  very  fast,  in  our  personal  moods,  from  dig 
nity  to  dependence.  And  if  any  appear  never  to  assume  tho 
chair,  but  always  to  stand  and  serve,  it  is  because  we  do  not 
see  the  company  in  a  sufficiently  long  period  for  the  whole  ro 
tation  of  parts  to  come  about.  As  to  what  we  call  the  masses, 
and  common  men  j  there  are  no  common  men.  All  men  are 
at  last  of  a  size  ;  and  true  art  is  only  possible,  on  the  convic 
tion  that  every  talent  has  its  apotheosis  somewhere.  Fair 
play,  and  an  open  field,  arid  freshest  laurels  to  all  who  have 
won  them  !  But  Heaven  reserves  an  equal  scope  for  every 
creature.  Each  is  uneasy  until  he  has  produced  his  private 
ray  unto  the  concave  sphere,  and  beheld  his  talent  also  in  its 
last  nobility  and  exaltation. 

The  heroes  of  the  hour  are  relatively  great :  of  a  faster 
growth  ;  or  they  are  such,  in  whom,  at  the  moment  of  success, 
a  quality  is  ripe  which  is  then  in  request.  Other  days  will  de 
mand  other  qualities.  Some  rays  escape  the  common  observer, 
and  want  a  finely  adapted  eye.  Ask  the  great  man  if  there 
be  none  greater.  His  companions  are  ;  and  not  the  less  great, 
but  the  more,  that  society  cannot  see  them.  Nature  never 
sends  a  great  man  into  the  planet,  without  confiding  the  secret 
to  another  soul. 

One  gracious  fact  emerges  from  these  studies,  —  that  there 
is  true  ascension  in  our  love.  The  reputations  of  the  nine 
teenth  century  will  one  day  be  quoted,  to  prove  its  barbarism. 
The  genius  of  humanity  is  the  real  subject  whose  biography 
is  written  in  our  annals.  We  must  infer  much,  and  supply 
nnmy  chasms  in  the  record.  The  history  of  the  universe  is 
symptomatic,  and  life  is  mnemonical.  No  man,  in  all  the 
procession  of  famous  men,  is  reason  or  illumination,  or  that 
essence  we  were  looking  for ;  but  is  an  exhibition,  in  some 
quarter,  of  new  possibilities.  Could  we  one  day  complete  the 
immense  figure  which  these  flagrant  points  compose !  The 
study  of  many  individuals  leads  us  to  an  elemental  region 
wherein  the  individual  is  lost,  or  wherein  all  touch  by  their 
summits.  Thought  and  feeling,  that  break  out  there,  cannot 
be  impounded  by  any  fence  of  personality.  This  is  the  key  to 
the  power  of  the  greatest  men,  —  their  spirit  diffuses  itself. 
A  new  quality  of  mind  travels  by  night  and  by  day,  hi  con- 


20  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 

centric  circles  from  its  origin,  and  publishes  itself  by  unknown 
methods  :  the  union  of  all  minds  appears  intimate  :  what  gets 
admission  to  one,  cannot  be  kept  out  of  any  other :  the  small 
est  acquisition  of  truth  or  of  energy,  in  any  quarter,  is  so 
much  good  to  the  commonwealth  of  souls.  If  the  disparities 
of  talent  and  position  vanish,  when  the  individuals  are  seen  in 
the  duration  which  is  necessary  to  complete  the  career  of 
each;  even  more  swiftly  the  seeming  injustice  disappears, 
when  we  ascend  to  the  central  identity  of  all  the  individuals, 
and  know  that  they  are  made  of  the  substance  which  ordain- 
eth  and  doeth. 

The  genius  of  humanity  is  the  right  point  of  view  of  history. 
The  qualities  abide  ;  the  men  who  exhibit  them  have  now 
more,  now  less,  and  pass  away ;  the  qualities  remain  on  anoth 
er  brow.  No  experience  is  more  familiar.  Once  you  saw 
phoenixes  :  they  are  gone  ;  the  world  is  not  therefore  disen 
chanted.  The  vessels  on  which  you  read  sacred  emblems  turn 
out  to  be  common  pottery ;  but  the  sense  of  the  pictures  is 
sacred,  and  you  may  still  read  them  transferred  to  the  walls 
of  the  world.  For  a  time,  our  teachers  serve  us  personally, 
as  metres  or  milestones  of  progress.  Once  they  were  augels 
of  knowledge,  and  their  figures  touched  the  sky.  Then  we 
drew  near,  saw  their  means,  culture,  and  limits ;  and  they 
yielded  their  place  to  other  geniuses.  Happy,  if  a  few  names 
remain  so  high,  that  we  have  not  been  able  to  read  them 
nearer,  and  age  and  comparison  have  not  robbed  them  of  a 
ray.  But,  at  last,  we  shall  cease  to  look  in  men  for  complete 
ness,  and  shall  content  ourselves  with  their  social  and  delegat 
ed  quality.  All  that  respects  the  individual  is  temporary  and 
prospective,  like  the  individual  himself,  who  is  ascending  out 
of  his  limits,  into  a  catholic  existence.  We  have  never  come 
at  the  true  and  best  benefit  of  any  genius,  so  long  as  we  believe 
him  an  original  force.  In  the  moment  when  he  ceases  to  help 
us  as  a  cause,  he  begins  to  help  us  more  as  an  effect.  Then  he 
appears  as  an  exponent  of  a  vaster  mind  and  will.  The  opaque 
self  becomes  transparent  with  the  light  of  the  First  Cause. 

Yet,  within  the  limits  of  human  education  and  agency,  we 
may  say,  great  men  exist  that  there  may  be  greater  men. 
The  destiny  of  organized  nature  is  amelioration,  and  who  can 
tell  its  limits  1  It  is  for  man  to  tame  the  chaos ;  on  every 
side,  whilst  he  lives,  to  scatter  the  seeds  of  science  and  of 
song,  that  climate,  corn,  animals,  men,  may  be  milder,  and 
the  germs  of  love  and  benefit  may  be  multiplied. 


II. 

PLATO;   OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER. 


PLATO;   OR,  THE   PHILOSOPHER. 


A  MOXG  books,  Plato  only  is  entitled  to  Omar's  fanatical 
j^\^  compliment  to  the  Koran,  when  he  said,  "  Burn  the 
libraries ;  for,  their  value  is  in  this  book."  These  sentences 
contain  the  culture  of  nations  ;  these  are  the  corner-stone  of 
schools  ;  these  are  the  fountain-head  of  literatures.  A  dis 
cipline  it  is  in  logic,  arithmetic,"  taste,  symmetry,  poetry,  lan 
guage,  rhetoric,  ontology,  morals,  or  practical  wisdom.  There 
was  never  such  range  of  speculation.  Out  of  Plato  come  all 
things  that  are  still  written  and  debated  among  men  of 
thought.  Great  havoc  makes  he  among  our  originalities. 
We  have  reached  the  mountain  from  which  all  these  drift 
boulders  were  detached.  The  Bible  of  the  learned  for  twenty- 
two  hundred  years,  every  brisk  young  man,  who  says  in  suc 
cession  fine  things  to  each  reluctant  generation,  —  Boethius, 
Rabelais,  Erasmus,  Bruno,  Locke,  Rousseau,  Alfieri,  Coleridge, 
—  is  some  reader  of  Plato,  translating  into  the  vernacular, 
wittily,  his  good  things.  Even  the  men  of  grander  proportion 
suffer  some  deduction  from  the  misfortune  (shall  I  say  1)  of 
coming  after  this  exhausting  generalizer.  St.  Augustine, 
Copernicus,  Newton,  Bchmcn,  Swedenborg,  Goethe,  are  like 
wise  his  debtors,  and  must  say  after  mm.  For  it  is  fair  to 
credit  the  broadest  generalizer  with  all  the  particulars  dedu- 
cible  from  his  thesis. 

Plato  is  philosophy,  and  philosophy,  Plato, — at  once  the 
glory  and  the  shame  of  mankind,  since  neither  Saxon  nor  Ro 
man  have  availed  to  add  any  idea  to  his  categories.  No  wife, 
no  children  had  he,  and  the  thinkers  of  all  civilized  nations 
are  his  posterity,  and  are  tinned  with  his  mind.  How  many 
great  men  Nature  is  incessantly  sending  up  out  of  night,  to 
be  ///.«?  men,  —  Plsitnnists  !  the  Alexandrians,  a  constellation  of 
genius;  the  Elizabethans,  not  less;  Sir  Thomas  More,  Henry 


24  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 

More,  John '  Hales,  John  Smith,  Lord  Bacon,  Jeremy  Taylor, 
Ralph  Cud  worth,  Sydenham,  Thomas  Taylor  ;  Marcilius  Fici- 
nus,  and  Picas  Mirandola.  Calvinism  is  in  his  Pheedo  ;  Chris 
tianity  is  in  it.  Mahometanism  draws  all  its  philosophy,  in 
its  hand-book  of  morals,  the  Akhlak-y-Jalaly,  from  him.  Mys 
ticism  finds  in  Plato  all  its  texts.  This  citizen  of  a  town  in 
Greece  is  no  villager  nor  patriot.  An  Englishman  reads  and 
says,  *  how  English  ! '  a  German,  — '  how  Teutonic  ! '  an  Ital 
ian,  —  '  how  Roman  and  how  Greek  ! '  As  they  say  that 
Helen  of  Argos  had  that  universal  beauty  that  everybody  felt 
related  to  her,  so  Plato  seems,  to  a  reader  in  New  England,  an 
American  genius.  His  broad  humanity  transcends  all  sectional 
lines. 

This  range  of  Plato  instructs  us  what  to  think  of  the  vexed 
question  concerning  his  reputed  works,  —  what  are  genuine, 
what  spurious.  It  is  singular  that  wherever  we  find  a  man 
higher,  by  a  whole  head,  than  any  of  his  contemporaries,  it  is 
sure  to  come  into  doubt,  what  are  his  real  works.  Thus, 
Homer,  Plato,  Raffaelle,  Shakespeare.  For  these  men  mag 
netize  their  contemporaries,  so  that  their  companions  can  do 
for  them  what  they  can  never  do  for  themselves ;  and  the 
great  man  does  thus  live  in  several  bodies,  and  write,  or  paint, 
or  act,  by  many  hands :  and,  after  some  time,  it  is  not  easy  to 
say  what  is  the  authentic  work  of  the  master,  and  what  is 
only  of  his  school. 

Plato,  too,  like  every  great  man,  consumed  his  own  times. 
What  is  a  great  man,  but  one  of  great  affinities,  who  takes  up 
into  himself  all  arts,  sciences,  all  knowables,  as  his  food  ?  He 
can  spare  nothing ;  he  can  dispose  of  everything.  What  is 
not  good  for  virtue,  is  good  for  knowledge.  Hence  his  con 
temporaries  tax  him  with  plagiarism.  Bat  the  inventor  only 
knows  how  to  borrow ;  and  society  is  glad  to  forget  the  in 
numerable  laborers  who  ministered  to  this  architect,  and  re 
serves  all  its  gratitude  for  him.  When  we  are  praising  Plato, 
it  seems  we  are  praising  quotations  from  Solon,  and  Sophron, 
and  Philolaus.  Be  it  so.  Every  book  is  a  quotation  ;  and 
every  house  is  a  quotation  out  of  all  forests,  and  mines,  and 
stone  quarries  ;  and  every  man  is  a  quotation  from  all  his 
ancestors.  And  this  grasping  inventor  puts  all  nations  under 
contribution. 

Plato  absorbed  the  learning  of  his  times,  —  Philolaus, 
Timseus,  Heraclitus,  Parmenides,  and  what  else ;  then  his 
master,  Socrates ;  and,  finding  himself  still  capable  of  a 


PLATO  ;    OK,    THE    PHILOSOPHER.  25 

larger  synthesis,  —  beyond  all   example  then  or   since,  —  ho 

travelled  into  Italy,  to  gain  what  Pythagoras  had  I'm-  him; 
then  into  Egypt,  and  perhaps  still  farther  east,  to  import  the 
other  element,  which  Europe  wanted,  into  the  European  mind. 
This  breadth  entitles  him  to  stand  as  the  representative  of 
philosophy.  lie  says,  in  the  liepublic.  "Such  a  genius  as 
philosophers  must  of  necessity  have,  is  wont  but  seldom,  in 
all  its  parts,  to  meet  in  one  man  ;  but  its  different  parts 
generally  spring  up  in  different  persons."  Kvery  man,  who 
would  do  anything  well,  must  come  to  it  from  a  higher  ground. 
A  philosopher  must  be  more  than  a  philosopher.  Plato  is 
clothed  with  the  powers  of  a  poet,  stands  upon  the  highest 
place  of  the  poet,  and,  (though  I  doubt  he  wanted  the  de 
cisive  gift  of  lyric  expression,)  mainly  is  not  a  poet,  because 
he  chose  to  use  the  poetic  gift  to  an  ulterior  purpose. 

Great  geniuses  have  the  shortest  biographies.  Their 
cousins  can  tell  you  nothing  about  them.  They  lived  in  their 
writings,  and  so  their  house  and  street  life  was  trivial  and  com 
monplace.  If  you  would  know  their  tastes  and  complexions, 
the  most  admiring  of  their  readers  most'  resembles  them. 
Plato,  especially,  has  no  external  biography.  If  he  had  lover, 
wife,  or  children,  we  hear  nothing  of  them.  He  ground  them 
all  into  paint.  As  a  good  chimney  burns  its  smoke,  so  a 
philosopher  converts  the  value  of  all  his  fortunes  into  his 
intellectual  performances. 

He  was  born  4.'M),  A.  C.,  about  the  time  of  the  death  of 
Pericles:  was  of  patrician  connection  in  his  times  and  city; 
and  is  said  to  have  had  an  early  inclination  for  war  ;  but,  in 
his  twentieth  year,  meeting  with  Socrates,  was  easily  dissuaded 
from  this  pursuit,  and  remained  f<  r  ten  years  his  scholar,  until 
the  death  of  Socrates.  He  then  went  to  Megara;  accepted 
the  invitations  of  Dion  and  of  Dionysius,  to  the  court  of  Sicily  ; 
and  went  thither  three  times,  though  very  capriciously  treated. 
He  travelled  into  Italy  :  then  into  Kirypt,  where  he  stayed  a 
longtime;  some  say  three,  —  some  say  thirteen  years.  It  is 
said,  he  went  farther,  into  R-ibylonia  :  this  is  uncertain.  He- 
turning  to  Athens,  he  gave-  lessons,  in  the  Academy,  to  those 
whom  his  fame  drew  thither  :  and  died,  as  we  have  received  it, 
in  the  act  "of  writing,  at  eighty-one  years. 

But  the  biography  of  Plato  is  interior.  We  are  to  account 
for  the  supreme  elevation  of  this  man,  in  the  intellectual  hip- 
tory  of  our  race,  —  how  it  happens  that,  in  proportion  to  the 
culture  of  men.  they  become  his  srholars  ;  that,  as  our  Jewish 

VOL.    II.  "  2 


REPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 


Bible  has  implanted  itself  in  the  table-talk  and  household  life 
of  every  man  and  woman   in   the    European   and  American 
nations,  so  the  writings  of  Plato  have  preoccupied  every  school 
of  learning,  every  lover  of  thought,  every  church,  every  poet 
-makin-  it  impossible  to  think,  on  certain  levels,   except 
through  him.     He  stands  between  the  truth  and  every  mans 
minded  has  almost  impressed  language,  and  the  primary 
forms  of  thought,  with  his  name  and  seal.     I  am  struck    n 
readm"  him,  with  the  extreme  modernness  of  Ins  style  and 
irit  °  Here  is  the  germ  of  that  Europe  we  know  so  well,  m 
t's  long  httor;  of  axis  and  arms  :  here  are  all  its  traits,  already 
discernible  in  the  mind  of  Plato,  -and   m  none  before  hn* 
It  has  spread  itself  since  into  a  hundred  histories,  but  has 
added  no  new  element.     This  perpetual  modernness  is  the 
measure  of  merit,  in  every  work  of  art  ;  since  the  •**"** 
was  not  misled  by  anything  short-lived  or  i**:*"**"*    *Z 
real  and  abiding  traits.    How  Plato  came  thus  to  be  E  ^  ««P^nd 
philosophy,  and  almost  literature,  is  the  problem  for  us  t      olv  e. 
P  This  could  not  have  happened,  without  a  sound  sincere  ,  and 
catholic  man,  able  to  honor,  at  the  same  time,  the  ideal  or 
laws  of  the  mind,  and  fate,  or  the  order  of  nature      Ihe  first 
period  of  a  nation,  as  of  an  individual,  is  the  period  of  uncon 
scious  strength.      Children  cry,  scream,  and  stamp  with  f.iry, 
unable  to  express  their  desires.     As  soon  as  they  can  speak 
and  tell  their  want,  and  the  reason  of  it,  they  become  gentle. 
In  adult  life,  whilst  the  perceptions  are  obtuse,  men  and  women 
talk  vehemently  and  superlatively,  blunder  and  quarrel;  their 
manners  are  full  of  desperation;  their  speech  ,s  full  of  oaths 
As  soon  as,  with  culture,  things  have  cleared  up  a  l.ttle,  and 
they  sec  them  no  longer  in  lumps  and  masses,  but  accurately 
distributed,  they  desist  from  that  weak  vehemence  and  explain 
iheir  meaning  in  detail.     If  the  tongue  had  not  l>-»  /'-"jf 
for  articulation,  man  would  still  be  a  beast  m  the  forest. 
same  weakness  and  want,  on  a  higher  plane,  ocoundady  ,    the 
education  of  ardent  young  men  and  women.       Ah  !  j  ou  d 
understand  rne  ;  I  have  never  met  with  any  one  who  compi  e- 
hcnds  me'  :    and  they  sigh  and  weep,  write  verses,  and  walk 
alone,  -fault  of  power  to'express  their  precise  meaning.     In 
a  month  or  two,  through  the  favor  of  their  good  genius,  they 
meet  some  one  so  related  as  to  assist  their  vo  came  estate  .and, 
good  communication  being  once  established  they  are  thence 
forward  good  citizens.     It  is  ever  thus.     The  prog.ess  is  t 
accuracy,  to  skill,  to  truth,  from  blind  force. 


PLATO;    OR,   THK    NIILnsoi'Iir.U.  27 

There  is  a  moment,  in  the  history  «>f  every  nation,  when, 
proceeding  out  of  tliis  brute  youth,  the  perceptive  ).<•  \\ers 
reui-li  tlu-ir  ripeness,  and  have  not  yet  become  microscopic  :  so 
that  man,  at  that  instant,  extends  across  the  entire  scale  ;  and, 
with  his  feet  still  planted  on  the  immense  forces  of  night,  OOTb 
verses,  by  his  eyes  and  brain,  with  solar  and  stellar  creation. 
That  is  the  moment  of  adult  health,  the  culmination  of  power. 

Such  is  the  history  <>f  Kuro|»e,  in  all  points  :  and  such  in 
philosophy.  Its  early  records,  almost  perished,  are  of  the'  im 
migrations  from  A-ia,  bringing  with  them  the  dreams  of  bar 
barians  ;  a  confusion  of  crude  notions  of  morals,  and  of  natural 
philosophy,  gradually  subsiding,  through  the  partial  insight  of 
single  teachers. 

I'.et'ore  LVricles  came  the  Seven  "Wise  Masters;  and  we  have 
the  beginnings  of  geometry,  metaphysics,  and  ethics:  then 
the  partialists, — deducing  the  origin  of  things  from  tlux  or 
water,  or  from  air.  or  from  fire,  or  from  mind.  All  mix  with 
these  causes  my t holo-'ic  pictures.  At  last  comes  Plato,  tin; 
distributor,  who  needs  no  barbaric  paint,  or  tattoo,  or  whoop 
ing  :  for  he  can  define.  He  leaves  with  Asia  the  vast  and  su 
perlative:  he  is  the  arrival  of  accuracy  and  intelligence.  "  He 
shall  be  as  a  god  to  me,  who  can  rightly  divide  and  define." 

This  defining  is  philosophy.  Philosophy  is  the  account 
which  tin1  human  mind  gives  to  itself  of  the  constitution  of 
the  world.  Two  cardinal  facts  lie  forever  at  the  base  ;  the  one, 
and  the  two.  1.  I'nity,  or  Identity;  and,  2.  Variety.  We 
unite  all  things,  by  perceiving  the  law  which  pervades  them  ; 
by  perceiving  the  superficial  differences,  and  the  profound  re 
semblances.  But  every  mental  act,  —  this  very  perception  of 
identity  or  oneness,  recognix.es  the  diH'erence  of  things.  One- 
and  otherness.  It  is  impossible  to  speak  or  to  think, 
without  embracing  both. 

The  mind  is  urged  to  ask  for  one  cause  of  many  effects; 
then  for  the  cause  of  that;  and  again  the  cause,  diving  still 
into  the  profound  :  self-assured  that  it  shall  arrive  at  an  abso 
lute  mid  sufficient,  one. — a  one  that  shall  be  all.  "In  the 
midst  of  the  sun  is  the  light,  in  the  midst  of  the  light  is  truth, 
and  in  the  midst  of  truth  is  the  imperishable  beinir,"  say  the 
A  edas.  All  philosophy,  of  cast  ami  west,  has  the  same  c"U- 
tripetencf.  Cru'ed  by  an  opposite  necessity,  the  mind  returns 
from  the  one,  to  that  which  is  not  one,  but  other  or  many  ; 
from  cause  to  effect  ;  and  aHirms  the  necessary  existence  (.f 
variety,  the.  self-existence  of  both,  as  each  is  involved  in  the 


28  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 

other.  These  strictly  blended  elements  it  is  the  problem  of 
thought  to  separate  and  to  reconcile.  Their  existence  is  mu 
tually  contradictory  and  exclusive  ;  and  each  so  fast  slides  into 
the  other,  that  we"  can  never  say  what  is  one,  and  what  it  is 
not.  The  Proteus  is  as  nimble  in  the  highest  as  in  the  lowest 
grounds,  when  we  contemplate  the  one,  the  true,  the  good,  — 
as  in  the  surfaces  and  extremities  of  matter. 

In  all  nations,  there  are  minds  which  incline  to  dwell  in  the 
conception  of  the  fundamental  Unity.  The  raptures  of  prayer 
and  ecstasy  of  devotion  lose  all  being  in  one  Being.  This 
tendency  finds  its  highest  expression  in  the  religious  writings 
of  the  East,  and  chiefly,  in  the  Indian  Scriptures,  in  the  Vedas, 
the  Bhagavat  Geeta,  and  the  Vishnu  Purana.  Those  writings 
contain  little  else  than  this  idea,  and  they  rise  to.  pure  and 
sublime  strains  in  celebrating  it. 

The  Same,  the  Same  :  friend  nnd  foe  are  of  one  stuff ;  the 
ploughman,  the  plough,  and  the  furrow,  are  of  one  stuff ;  and 
the  stuff  is  such,  and  so  much,  that  the  variations  of  form  are 
unimportant.      "  You  are  fit"  (says  the  supreme  Krishna  to  a 
sage)    "  to   apprehend    that  you   are   not    distinct    from   me. 
That  which  I  am,  thou  art,  and  that  also  is  this  world,  with 
Us  gods,  and  heroes,  and  mankind.     Men  contemplate  distinc 
tions,  because   they  arc    stupefied    with    ignorance."      "The 
words  /  and  mine  constitute  ignorance.     AY  hat  is  the  great  end 
of  all,  you  shall  now  learn  from  me.     It  is  soul,  —  one  in  all 
bodies,  pervading,  uniform,  perfect,  pre-eminent  over  nature, 
exempt  from  birth,  growth,  and  decay,  omnipresent,  made  up 
of  true  knowledge,  independent,  unconnected  with  unrealities, 
with  name,  species,  and  the  rest,  in  time  past,  present,  and  to 
tome.     The   knowledge   that  this  spirit,  which  is  essentially 
one,  is  in  one's  own,  and  in  all  other  bodies,  is  the  wisdom  of 
one'  who  knows  the  unity  of  things.     As  one   diffusive   air, 
passing  through  the  perforations  of  a  flute,  is  distinguished  as 
the  notes  of  a  scale,  so  the  nature  of  the  Great  Spirit  is  single, 
though  its  forms  be  manifold,  arising  from  the  consequences 
of  acts.     When  the  difference  of  the  investing  form,  as  that 
of  god,   or   the   rest,  is  destroyed,  there   is  no    distinction." 
"  The   whole  world  is  but  a  manifestation  of  Vishnu,  who  is 
identical  with  all  things,  and  is  to  be  regarded  by  the  wise,  as 
not  differing  from,  but  as  the  same  as  themselves.     I  neither 
am  going  nor  coming  ;  nor  is  my  dwelling  in  any  one  place  ; 
nor  art  thou,  thou  ;  nor  are  others,  others  ;  nor  am  I,  I."      As 
if  he  had  said,  '  All  is  for  the  soul,  and  the  soul  is  Vishnu ; 


PLATO  ;    OR,    THE   PHILOSOPHER.  29 

.and  animals  and  stars  arc  transient  paintings  ;  and  light  is 
whitewash  ;  and  durations  arc  deceptive  ;  and  form  is  impris 
onment ;  and  heaven  itself  a  decoy.'  That  which  the  soul 
seeks  is  resolution  into  being,  above  form,  out  of  Tartarus,  and 
out  of  heaven,  — liberation  from  nature. 

If  speculation  tends  thus  to  a  terrific  unity,  in  which  all 
things  are  absorbed,  action  tends  directly  backwards  to  diver 
sity.  The  first  is  the  course  or  gravitation  of  mind  ;  the 
second  is  the  power  of  nature.  Nature  is  the  manifold. 
The  unity  absorbs,  and  melts  or  reduces.  Nature  opens  and 
creates.  These  two  principles  reappear  and  interpenetrate  all 
things,  all  thought;  the  one,  the  many.  One  is  being ;  the 
other,  intellect  :  one  is  necessity  ;  the  other,  freedom  :  one, 
rest ;  the  other,  motion  :  one,  power  ;  the  other,  distribution  : 
one,  strength  ;  the  other,  pleasure  :  one,  consciousness  ;  the 
other,  definition  :  one,  genius  ;  the  other,  talent  :  one,  earnest 
ness  ;  the  other,  knowledge  :  one,  possession  ;  the  other,  trade  : 
one,  caste  ;  the  other,  culture  :  one,  king ;  the  other,  democ 
racy  :  and,  if  we  dare  carry  these  generalizations  a  step  higher, 
and  name  the  last  tendency  of  both,  we  might  say,  that  the 
end  of  the  one  is  escape  from  organ  i/at  ion, —  pure  science; 
and  the  end  of  the  other  is  the  highest  instrumentality,  or  use 
of  means,  or  executive  deity. 

Each  student  adheres,  by  temperament  and  by  habit,  to  the 
first  or  to  the  second  of  these  gods  of  the  mind.  By  religion,  he 
tends  to  unity  ;  by  intellect,  or  by  the  senses,  to  the  many. 
A  too  rapid  unification,  and  an  excessive  appliance  to  parts 
and  particulars,  are  the  twin  dangers  of  speculation. 

To  this  partiality  the  history  of  nations  corresponded.  The 
country  of  unity,  of  immovable  institutions,  the  seat  of  a 
philosophy  delighting  in  abstractions,  of  men  faithful  in  doc 
trine  and  in  practice  to  the  idea  of  a  deaf,  unimplorable,  im 
mense  fate,  is  Asia  ;  and  it  realizes  this  faith  in  the  social  in 
stitution  of  caste.  On  the  other  side,  the  genius  of  Europe 
is  active  and  creative  :  it  resists  caste  by  culture  ;  its  phi- 
losuphy  was  a  discipline;  it  is  a  land  of  arts,  inventions, 
trade,  freedom.  If  the  East  loved  infinity,  the  West  delighted 
in  boundaries. 

European  civility  is  the  triumph  of  talent,  the  extension  of 
system,  the  sharpened  understanding,  adaptive  skill,  delight  in 
forms,  delight  in  manifestation,  in  comprehensible  results.  Peri 
cles,  Athens,  (Ireece,  had  been  working  in  this  element  with  the 
joy  of  genius  not  yet  chilled  by  any  foresight  of  the  detriment  of 


30  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

an  excess.  They  saw  before  them  no  sinister  political  economy  ; 
no  ominous  Malthus  ;  no  Paris  or  London ;  no  pitiless  sub 
division  of  classes,  —  the  doom  of  the  pin-makers,  the  doom 
of  the  weavers,  of  dressers,  of  stockingers,  of  carders,  of  spin 
ners,  of  colliers ;  no  Ireland ;  no  Indian  caste,  superinduced 
by  the  efforts  of  Europe  to  throw  it  off.  The  understanding 
was  in  its  health  and  prime.  Art  was  in  its  splendid  novelty. 
They  cut  the  Pentelican  marble  as  if  it  were  snow,  and  their 
perfect  works  in  architecture  and  sculpture  seemed  things  of 
course,  not  more  difficult  than  the  completion  of  a  new  ship 
at  the  Medford  yards,  or  new  mills  at  Lowell.  These  things 
are  in  course,  and  may  be  taken  for  granted.  The  Roman 
legion,  Byzantine  legislation,  English  trade,  the  saloons  of 
Versailles,  the  cafes  of  Paris,  the  steam-mill,  steamboat,  steam- 
coach,  may  all  be  seen  in  perspective ;  the  town-meeting,  the 
ballot-box,  the  newspaper  and  cheap  press. 

Meantime,  Plato,  in  Egypt  and  in  Eastern  pilgrimages,  im 
bibed  the  idea  of  one  Deity,  in  which  all  things  are  absorbed. 
The  unity  of  Asia,  and  the  detail  of  Europe ;  the  infinitude  of  the 
Asiatic  soul,  and  the  defining,  result-loving,  machine- making, 
surface-seeking,  opera-going  Europe,  —  Plato  came  to  join, 
and  by  contact,  to  enhance  the  energy  of  each.  The  excel 
lence  of  Europe  and  Asia  are  in  his  brain.  Metaphysics  and 
natural  philosophy  expressed  the  genius  of  Europe ;  he  sub- 
structs  the  religion  of  Asia,  as  the  base. 

In  short,  a  balanced  soul  was  born,  perceptive  of  the  two 
elements.  It  is  as  easy  to  be  great  as  to  be  small.  The 
reason  why  we  do  not  at  once  believe  in  admirable  souls, 
is  because  they  are  not  in  our  experience.  In  actual 
life,  they  are  so  rare,  as  to  be  incredible ;  but,  primarily, 
there  is  not  only  no  presumption  against  them,  but  the  strong 
est  presumption  in  favor  of  their  appearance.  But  whether 
voices  were  heard  in  the  sky,  or  not  ;  whether  his  mother  or 
his  father  dreamed  that  the  infant  man-child  was  the  son  of 
Apollo  ;  whether  a  swarm  of  bees  settled  on  his  lips,  or  not ; 
a  man  who  could  see  two  sides  of  a  thing  was  born.  The 
wonderful  synthesis  so  familiar  in  nature  ;  the  upper  and  the 
under  side  of  the  medal  of  Jove  ;  the  union  of  impossibilities, 
which  reappears  in  every  object  ;  its  real  and  its  ideal  power, 
—  was  now,  also,  transferred  entire  to  the  consciousness  of  a 
man. 

The  balanced  soul  came.  If  he  loved  abstract  truth,  he 
saved  himself  by  propounding  the  most  popular  of  all  prin- 


PLATO;    OR,   THE   PHILOSOPHER.  31 

ciplos,  the  absolute  good,  which  rules  rulers,  and  judges  the 
judge.  If  he  made  traDBcendenta]  distinctions,  IK-  fortified 
himself  l>y  drawing  all  his  illustrations  i'nun  source's  disdained 
by  orators  and  ]>olite  conversers  ;  from  mares  and  puppies  ; 
from  pitchers  and  soup-ladles;  from  cooks  and  criers;  the 
shops  of  potters,  horsr  doctors,  butchers,  and  fishmongers, 
lie  cannot  furtive  in  himself  a  partiality,  hut  is  resolved  that 
the  two  poles  of  thought  shall  appear  in  his  statement.  His 
argument  and  his  sentence  are  self-poised  and  spherical.  The 
two  poles  appear  ;  yes,  and  become  two  hands,  to  grasp  and 
appropriate  their  own. 

Kvery  great  art  ist  has  been  such  by  synthesis.  Our  strength 
is  transitional,  alternating;  or,  shall  I  say,  a  thread  of  two 
strands.  The  sea-shore,  sea  seen  from  shore,  shore  seen  from 
sea:  the  taste  of  two  metals  in  contact;  and  our  enlarged 
] towers  at  the  approach  and  at  the  departure  of  a  friend  ;  the 
experience  of  poetic  oreatiyeness,  which  is  not  found  in  stay 
ing  at  home,  nor  yet  in  travelling,  but  in  transitions  from  one 
to  the  other,  which  must  therefore  be  adroitly  managed  to  pre 
sent  as  much  transitional  surface  as  possible  ;  this  command  of 
two  elements  must  explain  the  power  and  the  charm  of  Plato. 
Art  expresses  the  one,  or  the  same  by  the  different.  Thought 
seeks  to  know  unity  in  unity  ;  poetry  to  show  it  by  variety; 
that  is,  always  by  an  object  or  symbol.  Plato  keeps  the  two 
vases,  one  of  ether  and  one  of  pigment,  at  his  side,  and  in 
variably  uses  both.  Things  added  to  tilings,  as  statistics,  civil 
history,  are  inventories.  Things  used  as  language  are  in 
exhaustibly  attractive.  Plato  turns  incessantly  the  obverse 
and  the  reverse  of  the  medal  of  Jove. 

To    take    an    example:  —  The    physical    philosophers    had 
sketched  each  his  theory  of  the  world  ;  the  tluory  of  atoms, 
of  fire,  of  flux,  of  spirit ;  theories  mechanical  and  chemical  in 
their  genius.      Plato,  a  master  of  mathematics,  studious  of  all 
natural  laws  and  causes,  feels  these,  as  second  causes,  to  be  no 
theories  of  the  world,  but  bare  inventories  and  lists.      To  the 
study  of  nature  he  therefore  prefixes  the  dogma,  —  "  Let  us 
declare  the  cause  which   led  the  Supreme  Ordaincr  to  product1 
and  compose  the  universe.      He  was  good  ;  and  he  who  i- 
has  no  kind  of  envy.      llxempt    from    envy,  he  wished  that    all 
things  should  be  as  much  as  possible  like  himself.     "NVhos. 
hi    by  wise   men,  shall   admit   this  as  the   prime  car 
the  origin  and   foundation  of  the  world,  will   be  in  the  truth." 
"  All  things  are  for  the  sake  of  the  good,  and  it  is  the  cause 


32  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

of  everything  beautiful."     This  dogma  animates  and  imper 
sonates  his  philosophy. 

The  synthesis  which  makes  the  character  of  his  mind  ap 
pears  in  all  his  talents.  Where  there  is  great  compass  of  wit, 
we  usually  find  excellences  that  o  >mbine  easily  in  the  living 
man,  but  in  description  appear  incompatible.  The  mind  of 
Plato  is  not  to  be  exhibited  by  a  Chinese  catalogue,  but  is  to 
be  apprehended  by  an  original  mind  in  the  exercise  of  its 
original  power.  In  him  the  freest  abandonment  is  united 
with  the  precision  of  a  geometer.  His  daring  imagination 
gives  him  the  more  solid  grasp  of  facts ;  as  the  birds  of  high 
est  flight  have  the  strongest  alar  bones.  His  patrician  polish, 
his  intrinsic  elegance,  edged  by  an  irony  so  subtle  that  it 
stings  and  paralyzes,  adorn  the  soundest  health  and  strengtl 
of  frame.  According  to  the  old  sentence,  "  If  Jove  should 
descend  to  the  earth,  he  would  speak  in  the  style  of  Plato." 

With  this  palatial  air,  there  is,  for  the  direct  aim  of  several 
of  his  works,  and  running  through  the  tenor  of  them  all,  a 
certain  earnestness,  which  mounts,  in  the  Republic,  and  in 
the  Phajdo,  to  piety.  He  has  been  charged  with  feigning  sick 
ness  at  the  time  of  the  death  of  Sacrates.  But  the  anecdotes 
that  have  come  down  from  the  times  attest  his  manly  inter 
ference  before  the  people  in  his  master's  behalf,  since  even  the 
savage  cry  of  the  assembly  to  Plato  is  preserved ;  and  the  in 
dignation  towards  popular  government,  in  many  of  his  pieces, 
expresses  a  personal  exasperation.  He  has  a  probity,  a  native 
reverence  for  justice  and  honor,  and  a  humanity  which  makes 
him  tender  for  the  superstitions  of  the  people.  Add  to  this, 
he  believes  that  poetry,  prophecy,  and  the  high  insight,  are 
from  a  wisdom  of  which  man  is  not  master  ;  that  the  gods 
never  philosophize  ;  but,  by  a  celestial  mania,  these  miracles 
are  accomplished.  Horsed*  on  these  winged  steeds,  he  sweeps 
the  dim  regions,  visits  worlds  which  flesh  cannot  enter  :  he 
saw  the  souls  in  pain  ;  he  hears  the  doom  of  the  judge  ;  he 
beholds  the  penal  metempsychosis  ;  the  Fates,  with  the  rock 
and  shears  ;*and  hears  the  intoxicating  hum  of  their  spindle. 
But  his  circumspection  never  forsook  him.  One  would  say, 
he  had  read  the  inscription  on  the  gates  of  Busyrane,  -  "  Be 
bold "  ;  and  on  the  second  gate,  —  "  Be  bold,  be  bold,  and 
evermore  be  bold":  and  then  again  had  paused  well  at  the 

third  gate, "Be    not  too  bold."     His  strength  is  like  the 

momentum  of  a  falling  planet ;  and  his  discretion,  the  return 
of  its  due  and  perfect  curve,  —  so  excellent  is  his  Greek  love 


PLATO;    OR,   TIIK    1'IIILOSOIMIKR.  33 

of  boundary,  ami  his  skill  in  definition.  In  reading  loga 
rithms,  our  is  not  more  secure,  than  in  following  IMato  in  his 
ili-hts.  Nothing  can  lie  colder  than  his  head,  when  the 
lightnings  of  his  imagination  are  playing  in  the  sky.  He  lias 
tinished  his  thinking,  before  he  brings  it  to  the  reader;  and 
ho  abounds  in  the  surprise's  of  a  literary  master.  He  has  that 
opulence  which  furnishes,  at  every  turn,  the  precise  weapon 
he  needs.  As  the  rich  man  wears  no  more  garments,  drives 
no  more  horses,  sits  in  no  more  chambers,  than  the  poor, — 
but  has  that  one  dress,  or  equipage,  or  instrument,  which  is 
fit  for  the  hour  and  the  need  ;  so  1'lato,  in  his  plenty,  is  never 
restricted,  but  has  the  tit  word.  There  is,  indeed,  no  weapon 
in  all  the  armory  of  wit  which  he  did  not  possess  and  use, — 
epic,  analysis,  mania,  intuition,  music,  satire,  and  irony,  down 
to  the  customary  and  polite.  His  illustrations  are  poetry, 
and  his  jests  illustrat  ions.  Socrates'  profession  of  obstetric 
art  is  good  philosophy  ;  and  his  finding  that  word  "cookery," 
and  "adulatory  art,"  for  rhetoric,  in  the  Gorgias,  does  us  a 
substantial  service  still.  No  orator  can  measure-  ill  elleet 
with  him  who  can  give  good  nicknames. 

What  moderation,  and  understatement,  and  checking  his 
thunder  in  mid  volley  !  He  has  good-naturedly  furnished  the 
courtier  and  citi/en  with  all  that  can  be  said  against  the 
schools.  "For  philosophy  is  an  elegant  thing,  if  any  one  mod 
estly  meddles  with  it  ;  but,  if  he  is  conversant  with  it  more 
than  is  becoming,  it  corrupts  the  man."  He  could  well  ;  llbrd 
to  be  generous,  —  he,  who  from  the  sunlike  centrality  and 
reach  of  his  vision,  had  a  faith  without  cloud.  Such  as  his 
perception,  was  his  speech  :  he  plays  with  the  doubt,  and 
makes  the  most  of  it  :  he  paints  and  quibbles  ;  and  by  and 
by  comes  a  sentence  that  moves  the  sea  and  land  The  admi 
rable  earnest  comes  not  only  at  intervals,  in  the  perfect  yes  and 
no  of  the  dialogue,  but  in  bursts  of  light.  "  1,  therefore,  Calli- 
cles,  am  persunded  by  these  accounts,  and  consider  how  1  may 
exhibit  my  soul  before?  the  judge  in  a  healthy  condition.  Where 
fore  disregarding  the  honors  that  most  men  value,  and  looking 
to  the  truth,  1  shall  endeavor  in  reality  to  live  as  virtuously 
as  I  can  ;  and,  when  I  die,  to  die  so.  And  I  invite  all  other 
men.  to  the  utmost  of  my  power  ;  and  you,  lo<»,  I  in  turn 
invite  to  this  contest,  which,  I  affirm,  surpasses  all  contests 
here." 

He  is  a  great  average  man  :  one  who.  to    the   be-t    thinking, 
adds  a  proportion  and  equality  in  his  faculties,  so  that  men  sec 
2*  C 


34  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

in  him  their  own  dreams  and  glimpses  made  available,  and 
made  to  pass  for  what  they  are.  A  great  common  sense  is 
his  warrant  and  qualification  to  be  the  world's  interpreter. 
He  has  reason,  as  all  the  philosophic  and  poetic  class  have  : 
but  he  has,  also,  what  they  have  not,  —  this  strong  solving 
sense  to  reconcile  his  poetry  with  the  appearances  of  the 
world,  and  bnild  a  bridge  from  the  streets  of  cities  to  the  At 
lantis.  He  omits  never  this  graduation,  but  slopes  his 
thought,  however  picturesque  the  precipice  on  one  side,  to  an 
access  from  the  plain.  He  never  writes  in  ecstasy,  or  catches 
us  up  into  poetic  raptures. 

Plato  apprehended  the  cardinal  facts.     He  could  prostrate 
himself  on  the  earth,  and  cover  his  eyes,  whilst  he  adored  that 
which  cannot  be  numbered,  or  gauged,  or  known,  or  named  : 
that  of  which  everything  can  be  affirmed  and  denied  :  that 
"  which  is  entity  and  nonentity."     He  called  it  super-essential. 
He  even  stood  ready,  as  in  the  Parmenides,  to  demonstrate 
that    it    was    so,  —  that  this    Being   exceeded    the  limits  of 
intellect.     No  man  ever  more  fully  acknowledged  the  Ineffa 
ble.     Having  paid  his  homage,  as  for  the  human  race,  to  the 
Illimitable,  he  then  stood  erect,  and  for  the  human  race  af 
firmed,   'And  yet  things  are  knowable  !  '  —  that  is,  the  Asia 
in  his  mind  was  first  heartily  honored,  —  the  ocean  of  love  and 
power,  before  form,  before  will,  before  knowledge,  the   Same, 
the  Good,  the   One  ;  and   now,  refreshed  and  empowered  by 
this  worship,  the  instinct  of  Europe,  namely,  culture,  returns ; 
and  he  cries,  Yet  things  are  knowable  !     They  are  knowable, 
because,  being  from  one,  things  correspond.     There  is  a  scale  : 
and  the  correspondence  of  heaven  to  earth,  of  matter  to  mind, 
of  the  part,  to  the  whole,  is  our  guide.     As  there  is  a  science 
of  stars,  called  astronomy  ;  a  science  of  quantities,  called  math 
ematics  ;  a  science  of  qualities,  called  chemistry  ;  so  there  is  a 
science  of  sciences,— -I  call  it  Dialectic,  —  which  is  the  Intellect 
discriminating  the  false  and  the  true.     It  rests  on  the  observa 
tion  of  identity  and  diversity  ;  for,  to  judge,  is  to  unite  to  an 
object  the  notion  which  belongs  to  it.     The  sciences,  even  the 
best, — mathematics    and    astronomy,  —  are    like    sportsmen, 
who  seize  whatever  prey  offers,   even  without  being   able  to 
make  any  use  of  it.     Dialectic  must  teach  the  use  of  them. 
"  This  is'of  that  rank  that  no  intellectual  man  will  enter  on 
any  study  for  its  own  sake,  but  only  with  a  view  to  advance 
himself  in  that  one  sole  science  which  embraces  all." 


PLATO;    OR,    THE   PHILOSOPHIC.  35 

"  Tlie  essence  or  peculiarity  of  man  is  to  comprehend  a 
whole;  or  that  which,  ill  tin.-  diversity  of  sensai  'H.MS,  can  ho 
comprised  under  a  rational  unity."  "The  soul  which  has 
never  perceived  tin-  truth,  eannot  pass  into  the  human  form." 
1  announce  to  men  the  Intellect.  1  announce  the  good  of  he- 
iniT  interpen.-t  rated  hy  the  mind  that  made  nature  ;  this  bene 
fit,  namely,  that  it  can  understand  nature,  which  it  made  and 
maketh.  Nature  is  good,  hut  intellect  is  better  :  as  the  law 
giver  is  het'ore  the  law-receiver.  1  give  you  joy,  ()  sons  of 
men  !  that  truth  is  altogether  wholesome  ;  that  we  have  hope 
to  search  out  what  might  ho  the  very  self  of  everything.  Tho 
misery  of  man  is  to  he  balked  of  the  sight  of  essence,  and  to 
lie  stuifed  with  conjectures  :  hut  the  supreme  good  is  reality  ; 
the  supremo  beauty  is  reality  ;  and  all  virtue  and  all  felicity 
depend  on  this  science  of  the  ival  :  lor  courage  is  nothing  eUe 
than  knowledge  :  the  fairest  fortune  that  can  befall  man,  is  to 
he  guided  by  his  demon  to  that  which  is  truly  his  own.  This 
also  is  tin-  essence  of  justice, — to  attend  every  one  his  own  : 
nay.  the  notion  of  virtue  is  not  to  be  arrived  at,  except 
through  direct  contemplation  of  the  divine  essence.  Courage, 
then  .'  for,  "  the  persuasion  that  we  must  search  that  which 
we  do  not  know,  will  render  us,  beyond  comparison,  better, 
braver,  and  more  industrious,  than  if  we  thought  it  impossible 
to  discover  what  we  do  not  know,  and  useless  t<-  searrh  for  it/' 
•iires  a  position  not  to  be  commanded,  by  his  passion  for 
reality  :  valuing  philosophy  only  as  it  is  the  pleasure  of  con 
versing  with  real  being. 

Thus,  full  of  the  genius  of  Europe,  he  said,  Culture.  He 
saw  the  institutions  of  Sparta,  and  reco-_rni/ed  more  genially, 
one  would  say.  than  any  since,  the  hope  of  education,  lie 
delighted  in  every  accomplishment,  in  every  graceful  and  use 
ful  and  truthful  performance  ;  above  all,  in  the  splendors  of 
genius  and  intellectual  achievement,  "The  whole  of  life,  0 
-aid  (Jlauco,  is,  with  the  wise,  the  measure  of  hear- 
ich  disrourses  as  these.'1  What  a  price  he  sets  on  the 
feats  of  talent,  on  the  powers  of  Pericles,  of  Isocrates,  of 
Parmenid  •- !  What  price,  above  price,  on  the  talents  them 
selves!  He  culled  the  several  faculties.  gods,  in  his  beautiful 
personation.  What  value  he  Drives  to  the  art  of  gymnastic  in 
education  ;  what  to  -V'-metrv  ;  what  to  music  ;  what  to  astron 
omy,  wh«>  MI:  and  medicinal  power  ho  celebrates  !  In 
th'-  TimaMis,  he  indicate-  the  hi-_di--t  employment  of  the 
"By  n.s  it  .  d,  that  God  invented  aiid  bestowed  sight 


36  REPRESENTATIVE  i\IEN. 

on  us  for  this  purpose,  —  that,  on  surveying  the  circles  of  in 
telligence  in  the  heavens,  we  might  properly  employ  those  of 
our  own  minds,  which,  though  disturbed  when  compared  with 
the  others  that  are  uniform,  are  still  allied  to  their  circulations  ; 
and  that,  having  thus  learned,  and  being  naturally  possessed 
of  a  correct  reasoning  faculty,  we  might,  by  imitating  the  uni 
form  revolutions  of  divinity,  set  right  our  own  wanderings  and 
blunders."  And  in  the  Republic,  —  "  By  each  of  these  disci 
plines,  a  certain  organ  of  the  soul  is  both  purified  and  reani 
mated,  which  is  blinded  and  buried  by  studies  of  another  kind  ; 
an  organ  better  worth  saving  than  ten  thousand  eyes,  since 
truth  is  perceived  by  this  alone." 

He  said,  Culture ;  but  he  first  admitted  its  basis,  and  gave 
immeasurably  the  first  place  to  advantages  of  nature.  His 
patrician  tastes  laid  stress  on  the  distinctions  of  birth.  In  the 
doctrine  of  the  organic  character  and  disposition  is  the  origin 
of  caste.  "  Such  as  were  fit  to  govern,  into  their  composition 
the  informing  Deity  mingled  gold  :  into  the  military,  silver  ; 
iron  and  brass  for  husbandmen  and  artificers."  The  East  con 
firms  itself,  in  all  ages,  in  this  faith.  The  Koran  is  explicit  on 
this  point  of  caste.  "  Men  have  their  metal,  as  of  gold  and 
silver.  Those  of  you  who  were  the  worthy  ones  in  the  state 
of  ignorance,  will  be  the  worthy  ones  in  the  state  of  faith,  as 
soon  as  you  embrace  it."  Plato  was  not  less  firm.  '  Of  the 
five  orders  of  things,  only  four  can  be  taught  to  the  generality 
of  men."  In  the  Republic,  he  insists  on  the  temperaments 
of  the  youth,  as  first  of  the  first. 

A  happier  example  of  the  stress  laid  on  nature,  is  in  the 
dialogue  with  the  young  Theages,  who  wishes  to  receive  lessons 
from  Socrates.  Socrates  declares  that,  if  some  have  grown 
wise  by  associating  with  him,  no  thanks  are  due  to  him  ;  but, 
simply,  whilst  they  were  with  him,  they  grew  wise,  not  becaus 
of  him  ;  he  pretends  not  to  know  the  way  of  it. 
verse  to  many,  nor  can  those  be  benefited  by  associating  with 
me,  whom  the  Demon  opposes  ;  so  that  it  is  not  possible  for 
me  to  live  with  these.  With  many,  however,  he  does  not  pre 
vent  me  from  converging,  who  yet  are  not  at  all  benefited  by 
associating  with  me.  Su«h,  0  Theages,  is  the  association  wit! 
me  ;  for,  if  it  pleases  the  God,  you  will  make  great  and  rapid 
proficiency  ;  you  will  not,  if  he  does  not  please.  Judge  whether 
it  is  not  safer  to  be  instructed  by  some  one  of  those  who  have 
power  over  the  benefit  which  they  impart  to  men,  than  by  me, 
who  benefit  or  not,  just  as  it  may  happen."  As  if  he  had  said, 


PLATO;    OR,    THE    PHILOSOPHIC.  i',7 

'  I  h:ive  no  system.      I    cannot    be    Miswcrahle  fur  you.      You 
will   be  what  VIMI    must.       If  there    is    love  between    us.    incon- 

oervably  delicious  aiid  profitable  will  our  intercourse  be  :  it'  not, 

your  time  is  lost,  and  you  will   only  annoy  me.      1    shall 
to  you  stupid,  and  the  reputation  1    ha\e,  false.      Quite  above 
us,  beyond  the  will  of  you  or  me,  is  this  secret    ailinity  or  re- 
])iilsion  laid.      All  inv  Li'ood  is  magnet ic,  and  I  educate,  not  by 
MS,  hut  hy  goinu  about  my  busin< 

He  said.  Cult  tire  :  he  said.  Nature  :  and  he  tailed  not  to  add, 
'There  is  nisi •  the  divine.'  There  is  no  thought  in  any  mind, 
but  it  quickly  tends  to  convert  itself  into  a  power,  and  org:m- 
i/.rs  a  huge  instrumentidity  of  means.  Plato,  lover  of  limits, 
loved  the  illimitable,  saw  the  enlargement  and  nohilitv  which 
come  from  truth  itself  and  good  itself,  and  attempted,  as  if  on 
the  part  of  the  human  intellect,  onoe  lor  all,  to  do  it  adequate 
homage,  -  -  homage  tit  for  the  immense  soul  to  receive,  and  yet 
homage  becoming  the  intellect  to  render.  He  said,  then.  •  Our 
faculties  run  out  into  infinity,  and  return  to  ns  thence.  We 
can  define  but  a  little  way  ;  hut  here  is  a  fact  which  will  not 
be  skipped,  and  which  to  shut  our  eyes  upon  is  suicide.  All 
things  are  in  a  scale  :  and,  begin  where  we  will,  ascend  and 
ascend.  All  things  are  symbolical  :  and  what  we  call  results 
are  beginnings.' 

A  key  to  the  method  and  completeness  of  Plato  is  his  twice 
bisected  line.  After  he  has  illustrated  the  relation  bet  wt  en 
the  absolute  good  and  true,  and  the  forms  of  the  intelligible 
world,  he  savs  :  "  Let  there  be  a  line  cut  in  two  unequal 
parts.  Cut  again  each  of  these  two  parts.  -  one  representing 
the  visible,  the  other  the  intelligible  world,  —  and  these  two 
'•tions  representing  the  bright  part  and  the  dark  part  of 
these  worlds,  you  will  have,  for  one  of  the  sections  of  the  visi 
ble  world,  —  images,  that  is,  both  shadows  and  reflections;  for 
the  other  section,  the  objects  of  these  images,  —  that  is,  plants, 
animals,  and  the  works  of  art  and  nature.  Then  divide  Un 
intelligible  world  in  like  manner  ;  the  one  section  will  be  of 
opinions  and  hypotheses,  and  the  other  section,  of  truths.'' 
To  these  four  sections,  the  four  operations  of  the  soul  corre 
spond, —  conjecture,  faith,  understanding,  reason.  As  every 
pool  reflects  the  image  of  the  sun,  so  every  thought  and  thing 
restores  us  an  image  and  creature  of  the  supreme  (iood.  The 
universe  is  perforated  by  a  million  channels  for  his  activity. 
All  things  mount  and  mount. 

All   his.  thought   has  this  ascension  ;   in   Pluedrus,  teaching 


38  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 

that  beauty  is  the  most  lovely  of  all  things,  exciting  hilarity, 
and  sheddiuo-  desire    and    confidence   through   the    universe 
wherever  it  enters ;   and   it  enters,  in  some  degree,  into  all 
thino-s  :    but  that  there  is  another,  which  is  as  much  more 
beautiful  than  beauty,  as  beauty  is  than  chaos;  namely,  wis 
dom   which  our  wonderful  organ  of  sight  cannot  reach  unto 
but  which,  could  it  be  seen,  would  ravish  us  with  its  perfect 
reality.     He  has  the  same  regard  to  it  as  the  source  of  excel 
lence  in  works  of  art.     "  When  an  artificer,  in  the  fabrication 
of  any  work,  looks  to  that  which  always  subsists  according  to 
the  same;  and,  employing  a  model  of  this  kind,  expresses  its 
idea  and  power  in  his  work;    it  must  follow,  that  Ins  pro 
duction  should  be  beautiful.     But  when  he  beholds  that  which 
is  born  and  dies,  it  will  be  far  from  beautiful. 

Thus  ever :  the  Banquet  is  a  teaching  in  the  same  spirit, 
familiar  now  to  all  the  poetry,  and  to  all  the  sermons  of  the 
world,  that  the  love  of  the  sexes  is  initial ;  and  symbolizes,  at 
a  distance,  the  passion  of  the  soul  for  that  immense  lake  of 
beauty  it  exists  to  seek.  This  faith  in  the  Divinity  is  never 
out  of  mind,  and  constitutes  the  ground  of  all  his  dogmas. 
Body  cannot  teach  wisdom; -God  only  In  the  same  mind 
he  constantly  affirms  that  virtue  cannot  be  taught ;  that  it  i, 
not  a  science,  but  an  inspiration ;  that  the  greatest  goods  are 
produced  to  us  through  mania,  and  are  assigned  to  us  by  a 

ilVTMsgleads  me  to  that  central  figure,  which  he  has  estab 
lished  in  his  Academy,  as  the  organ  through  which  every  con 
sidered  opinion  shall  be  announced,  and  whose  biography  he 
has  likewise  so  labored,  that  the  historic  facts  are  lost  in  t 
li«rht   of   Plato's  mind.     Socrates  and  Plato  are  the  double 
star    which  the  most  powerful  instruments  will  not  entirely 
separate.     Socrates,  again,  in  his  traits  and  genius   is  the  best 
example  of  that  synthesis  which  constitutes  Plato  s  extraordi 
nary  power.     Socrates,  a  man  of  humble   stem,  but  honest 
enough  •   of  the  commonest  history ;   of  a  personal  homeli 
ness  "so  remarkable,  as  to  be  a  cause  of  wit  in  others,  -  the 
rather  that  his  broad   good-nature  and  exquisite  taste  for  a 
ioke  invited  the  sally,  which  was  sure  to  be  paid.      I  he  play 
ers  personated  him  on  the  stage ;  the  potters  copied  his  ugly 
face  on  their  stone  jugs.     He  was  a  cool  fellow  adding  to  his 
humor  a  perfect  temper,  and  a  knowledge  of  his  man,  b 
who  he  might  whom  he  talked  with,  which  laid  the  companion 
open  to  certain  defeat  in  any  debate,  — and  in  debate 


PLATO;    OR,   THE   PHILOSOPHER.  39 

moderately  delighted.     The  younir  men  are  prodigiously  f«>n«l 

of  him,  and  invite  him  to  their  leasts,  whither  lie  goes  for 
conversation.  He  can  drink,  too;  has  the  strongest  head  in 
Athens;  and.  after  leaving  the  whole  party  under  the  table, 
a\v:iy,  as  if  nothing  li:nl  happened,  to  begin  new  dia 
logues  with  somebody  that  is  sober.  In  short,  he  was  what 
onr  country-people  call  « n  »/</  <>ne. 

He  atfeeted  a  good  many  citizen-like  tastes,  was  monstrously 
fond  of  Athens,  hated  trees,  never  willingly  went  beyond  the 
walls,  knew  the  old  characters,  valued  the  bores  and  philis- 
tines,  thought  everything  in  Athens  a  little  better  than  any 
thing  in  anv  other  place.  He  was  plain  as  a  (Quaker  in  habit 
and  speech,  affected  low  phrases,  and  illustrations  from  cocks 
and  quails,  soup  pans  and  sycamore-spoons,  grooms  and  far 
riers,  and  unnameable  offices,  —  especially  if  lie  talked  with 
any  superfine  person.  He  had  a  Franklin-like  wisdom.  Thus, 
he  showed  one  who  was  afraid  to  go  on  foot  to  (Hympia,  that 
it  was  no  more  than  his  daily  walk  within  doors,  if  contin 
uously  extended,  would  easily  reach. 

Plain  old  uncle  as  he  was,  with  his  great  ears,  —  an  im 
mense  talker,  — the  rumor  ran,  that,  on  one  or  two  occasions, 
in  the  war  with  Fxrotia,  he  had  shown  a  determination  which 
had  covered  the  retreat  of  a  troop  ;  and  there  was  some  story 
that,  under  cover  of  folly,  he  had,  in  the  city  government, 
when  one  day  he  chanced  to  hold  a  seat  there,  evinced  a  cour 
age  in  opposing  singly  the  popular  voice,  which  had  wellni-h 
ruined  him.  He  is  very  poor  ;  but  then  he  is  hardy  as  a 
soldier,  and  can  live  on  a  few  olives;  usually,  in  the  strictest 
sense,  on  bread  and  water,  except  when  entertained  by  his 
friends.  His  necessary  expenses  were  exceedingly  small,  and 
no  one  else  could  live  as  he  did.  He  wore  no  under  garment  ; 
his  upper  garment  was  the  same  for  summer  and  winter  ;  and 
he  went  Kirefooted  ;  and  it  is  said  that,  to  procure  the  pleas 
ure,  which  he  loves,  of  talking  at  his  ease  all  day  with  the 
most  el. '-ant  and  cultivated  young  men,  he  will  now  and  then 
return  to  his  shop,  and  carve  stutues  good  or  bad.  for  sale. 
However  that  be.  it  is  certain  that  he  had  grown  to  delight 
in  nothing  else  than  this  conversation  ;  and  that,  under  his 
hypocritical  pretence  of  knowing  nothing,  he  attarks  and 
brings  down  all  the  fine  speakers,  all  the  fine  philo8Oph< 
Athens,  \vhether  natives,  or  strangers  from  A>ia  Minor  and 
the  islands.  Nobody  can  refuse  to  talk  with  him,  he  is  so 
honest,  and  really  curious  to  know  ;  a  man  who  was  willingly 


40  REPRESENTATIVE  HEN. 

confuted,  if  he  did  not  speak  the  truth,  and  who  willingly  con 
futed  other,  asserting  what  was  false  ;  and  not  less  pleased 
when  confuted  than  when  confuting  ;  for  he  thought  not  any 
evil  happened  to  men,  of  such  magnitude  as  false  opinion  re- 
SS  the  just  and  unjust.    A  pitiless  disputant,  who  knows 
nothing  but  the  bounds  of  whose  conquering  intelligence  no 
man  had   ever  reached;   whose   temper  was  imperturbable; 
whose  dreadful   logic  was  always  leisurely  and  sportive  ;   so 
careless  and  ignomnt,   as  to  disarm  the   wariest    and  draw 
them,  in  the   pleasantest  manner,  into  horrible  doubts  and 
confusion.     Bat  he  always  knew  the  way  out  ;  knew  ,t    jet 
would  not  tell  it.      No  escape;   he  drives   them  to  tembl< 
choices  bv  his  dilemmas,  and  tosses  the  H.pp.ases  and  Gor- 
giases,  with  their  grand  reputations,  as  a  boy  tosses  his  balls 
The  tyrannous  realist  1-  Mcno  has  discoursed  a  thousand 
times/at  length,  on  virtue,  before  many  companies  and  very 
well   as  it  atroeaWd  to  him  ;  but,  at  this  moment,  he  cannot 
eve,!  tell  whit  it  is,  -this  cramp-fish  of  a  Socrates  has  so 

^This'llrd-headed  humorist,  whose  stmnge  conceits,  drollery, 
and    bonhommie,   diverted   the    yoxmg    patricians    whilst  the 
r    nor  of   his  savings    and  quibbles  gets  abroad  every  dav 
turns  out,  in  the'sequel,  to  have  a  prob.ty  as  ***"&•*}* 
lo<nc  and  to  be  either  insane,  or,  at  least,  under  co^cr  oi 
pC  enthusiastic  in  his  religion.     When  Reused  before    h 
iud-es  of  subverting  the  popular  creed  he  affiims  tl 
mortality  of  the  soul,  the  future  reward  and  punishment; 


the  iailer-but  Socrates  would  not  go  out  by  treachery. 
'•Whatever  ^convenience  ensue,  nothing  is  to  be  preferred  be 
fore  ustice.  These  things  I  hear  like  pipes  and  *«*£» 
sound  makes  me  deaf  to  everything  you  say.  1_  fe  me  ot 
this  prison,  the  fame  of  the  discourses  there,  and  the  dnnkmg 
of  the  hemlock,  are  oue  of  the  most  prec.ous  passages  in  t 

^^rltrdete,  in  one  ugly  body  of  ^11  and  the 
martyr,  the  keen  street  and  market  debate,  -with  the  ^  sweetest 
saint'  known  to  any  history  at  that  time,  had  forcibly  s 
the  mind  of  Plato,  so  capacious  of  these  contrasts  ;  and  the 
figure   of  Socrates,  by  a  necessity,  placed  itself  m  the 


PLATO  *    OR,    THE    PHILOSOPHIC.  4L 

ground  of  the  scene,  as  the  fittest  dispenser  of  the  intellectual 
treasures  he  hud  to  communicate.  It  was  a  rare  fortune,  that 
this  .Ksop  of  the  mob,  and  this  robed  scholar  should  meet, 
to  make  each  other  immortal  in  their  mutual  faculty.  The 
strange  synthesis,  in  the  character  of  Socrates,  capped  the 
synthesis  in  the  mind  of  Plato.  Moreover,  by  this  means,  he 
\\as  able,  in  the  direct  way,  and  without  envy,  to  avail  himself 
of  the  wit  and  weight  of  Socrates,  to  which  unquestionably  his 
own  debt  was  great  ;  and  these  derived  again  their  principal 
advantage  from  the  perfect  art  of  Plato.  / 

It  remains  to  say,  that  the  defect  of  Plato  in  power  is  only 
that  which  results  inevitably  from  his  quality.  He  is  intellec 
tual  in  his  aim  ;  and,  therefore,  in  expression,  literary.  Mount 
ing  into  heaven,  diving  into  the  pit,  expounding  the  laws  of 
the  state,  the  passion  of  love,  the  remorse  of  crime,  the  hope 
of  the  parting  soul,  —  he  is  literary,  and  never  otherwise.  It 
is  almost  the  sole  deduction  from  the  merit  of  Plato,  that  his 
writings  have  not  —  what  is,  no  doubt,  incident  to  this  reg- 
nancy  of  intellect  in  his  work  —  the  vital  authority  which  the 
screams  of  prophets  and  the  sermons  of  unlettered  Arabs  and 
Jews  possess.  There  is  an  interval ;  and  to  cohesion,  contact 
is  necessary. 

I  know  not  what  can  be  said  in  reply  to  this  criticism,  but 
that  we  have  come  to  a  fact  in  the  nature  of  things  :  an  oak 
is  not  an  orange.  The  qualities  of  sugar  remain  with  sugar, 
and  those  of  salt,  with  salt. 

In  the  second  place,  he  has  not  a  system.  The  dearest  de 
fenders  and  disciples  are  at  fault.  He  attempted  a  theory  of 
the  universe,  and  his  theory  is  not  complete  or  self-evident. 
One  man  thinks  he  means  this  ;  and  another,  that :  he  has 
said  one  thing  in  one  place,  and  the  reverse  of  it  in  another 
place.  He  is  charged  with  having  failed  to  make  the  transition 
from  ideas  to  matter.  Here  is  the  world,  sound  as  a  nut, 
perfect,  not  the  smallest  piece  of  chaos  left,  never  a  stitch  nor 
an  end,  not  a  mark  of  haste,  or  botching,  or  second  thought  ; 
but  the  theory  of  the  world  is  a  thing  of  shreds  and  patches. 

The  longest  wave  is  quickly  lost  in  the  sea.  Plato  would 
willingly  have  a  Platonism,  a  known  and  accurate  expr 
for  the  world,  and  it  should  be  accurate.  It  shall  be  the 
world  passed  through  the  mind  of  Plato, — -nothing  less. 
Every  atom  shall  have  the  Platonic  tin-v  ;  every  utom,  every 
relation  or  quality  you  knew  before,  you  shall  knew  again,  and 
fiiid  here,  but  now  ordered;  not  nature,  but  art.  And  you 


42  REPRESENTATIVE   ]\tEN. 

shall  feel  that  Alexander  indeed  overran,  with  men  and  horses, 
some  countries  of  the  planet  ;  but  countries,  and  things  of 
which  countries  are  made,  elements,  planet  itself,  laws  of  planet 
and  of  men,  have  passed  through  this  man  as  bread  into  his 
body,  and  become  no  longer  bread,  but  body  :  so  all  this  mam 
moth  morsel  has  become  Plato.  He  has  clapped  copyright 
on  the  world.  This  is  the  ambition  of  individualism.  But 
the  mouthful  proves  too  large.  Boa  constrictor  has  good  will  to 
eat  it,  but  he  is  foiled.  He  falls  abroad  in  the  attempt ;  and 
biting,  gets  strangled  :  the  bitten  world  holds  the  biter  fast 
by  his  own  teeth.  There  he  perishes  :  unconquered  nature 
lives  on,  and  forgets  him.  So  it  fares  with  all :  so  must  it  fare 
with  Plato.  In  view  of  eternal  nature,  Plato  turns  out  to  be 
philosophical  exercitations.  He  argues  on  this  side,  and  on 
that.  The  acutest  German,  the  lovingest  disciple,  could  never 
tell  what  Platonism  was ;  indeed,  admirable  texts  can  be 
quoted  on  both  sides  of  every  great  question  from  him. 

These  things  we  are  forced  to  say,  if  we  must  consider  the 
effort  of  Plato,  or  of  any  philosopher,  to  dispose  of  Nature, 
—  which  will  not  be  disposed  of.  No  power  of  genius  has 
ever  yet  had  the  smallest  success  in  explaining  existence. 
The  perfect  enigma  remains.  But  there  is  an  injustice  in  as 
suming  this  ambition  for  Plato.  Let  us  not  seem  to  treat 
with  flippancy  his  venerable  name.  Men,  in  proportion  to 
their  intellect,  have  admitted  his  transcendent  claims.  The 
way  to  know  him,  is  to  compare  him,  not  with  nature,  but 
with  other  men.  How  many  ages  have  gone  by,  and  he  re 
mains  unapproached  !  A  chief  structure  of  human  wit,  like 
Karnac,  or  the  mediaeval  cathedrals,  or  the  Etrurian  remains,  it 
requires  all  the  breadth  of  human  faculty  to  know  it.  I  think 
it  is  trueliest  seen,  when  seen  with  the  most  respect.  His 
sense  deepens,  his  merits  multiply,  with  study.  When  we 
say,  here  is  a  fine  collection  of  fables  ;  or,  when  we  praise  the 
style  ;  or  the  common  sense ;  or  arithmetic  ;  we  speak  as 
boys,  and  much  of  our  impatient  criticism  of  the  dialectic, 
I  suspect,  is  no  better.  The  criticism  is  like  our  impatience 
of  miles,  when  we  are  in  a  hurry  ;  but  it  is  still  best  that  a  mile 
should  have  seventeen  hundred  and  sixty  yards.  The  great- 
eyed  Plato  proportioned  the  lights  and  shades  after  the  genius 
of  our  life. 


PLATO:    NEW    READINGS. 


THE  publication,  in  Mr.  Bonn's  "  Serial  Library,"  of  the 
excellent  translations  of  Plato,  which  we  esteem  one  of 
the  chief  benefits  the  cheap  press  has  yielded,  gives  us  an  oc 
casion  to  take  hastily  a  few  more  notes  of  the  elevation  and 
bearings  of  this  fixed  star ;  or,  to  add  a  bulletin,  like  the 
journals,  of  Plato  at  the  latest  dates. 

Modern  science,  by  the  extent  of  its  generalization,  has 
learned  to  indemnify  the  student  of  man  for  the  defects  of 
individuals,  by  tracing  growth  and  ascent  in  races ;  and,  by  the 
simple  expedient  of  lighting  up  the  vast  background,  generates 
a  feeling  of  complacency  and  hope.  The  human  being  has 
the  saurian  and  the  plant  in  his  rear.  His  ai'ts  and  sciences, 
the  easy  issue  of  his  brain,  look  glorious  when  prospectively 
beheld  from  the  distant  brain  of  ox,  crocodile,  ami  fish.  It 
seems  as  if  nature,  in  regarding  the  geologic  night  behind  her, 
when,  in  five  or  six  millenniums,  she  had  turned  out  five  or  six 
men,  as  Homer,  Phidias,  Menu,  and  Columbus,  was  nowise 
discontented  with  the  result.  These  samples  attested  the 
virtue  of  the  tree.  These  were  a  clear  amelioration  of  trilo- 
bite  find  saurus,  and  a  good  basis  for  further  proceeding. 
With  this  artist,  time  and  space  arc  cheap,  and  she  is  insensible 
to  what  you  say  of  tedious  preparation.  She  waited  tranquilly 
the  flowing  periods  of  paleontology,  for  the  hour  to  be  struck 
when  man  should  arrive.  Then  periods  must  pass  before  the 
motion  of  the  earth  can  be  suspected  ;  then  before  the  map 
of  the  instincts  and  the  cultivable  powers  can  be  drawn.  But 
as  of  races,  so  the  succession  of  individual  men  is  fatal  and 
beautiful,  and  Plato  has  the  fortune,  in  the  history  of  man 
kind,  to  mark  an  epoch. 

Plato's  fame  does  not  stand  on  a  syllogism,  or  on  any  mas' 


44  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

terpiecesof  the  Socratic  reasoning,  or  on  any  thesis,  as  for  ex 
ample,    the   immortality  of  the  soul.     He  is  more  than  an 
expert,  or  a  schoolman,  or  a  geometer,  or  the   prophet  of  a 
peculiar  message.     He  represents  the  privilege  of  the  intellect, 
the   power,   namely,  of  carrying  up  every  fact  to  successive 
platforms,  and  so  disclosing,  in  every  fact,  a  germ  of  expansion. 
These  expansions  are  in  the  essence  of  thought.     The  natural 
ist  would  never  help  us  to  them  by  any  discoveries  of  the  ex 
tent  of  the   universe,  but  is  as  poor,  when  cataloguing  the 
resolved  nebula  of  Orion,  as  when  measuring  the  angles 
acre.     But  the  Republic  of  Plato,  by  these  expansions,  may  be 
said  to  require,  and   so   to  anticipate,  the   astronomy  of  La 
place     The  expansions  are  organic.    The  mind  does  not  create 
what' it  perceives,  any  more  than  the  eye  creates  the  rose.     In 
ascribing  to  Plato  the  merit  of  announcing  them,  we  only  say, 
here  was  a  more  complete  man,  who  could  apply  to  nature  the 
whole  scale  of  the  senses,  the  understanding,  and  the  reason. 
These  expansions,  or  extensions,  consist  in  continuing  the  spir 
itual  Bight  where  the  horizon  falls  on  our  natural  vision,  and 
by  thisesecond  sight,  discovering  the  long  lines  of  law  which 
shoot   in  every  direction.     Everywhere  he   stands  on  a  path 
which  has  no  end,  but  runs  continuously  round  the  universe. 
Therefore,  every  word  becomes  an  exponent  of  nature.     What 
ever  he   looks   upon   discloses  a   second   sense,  and  ulterior 
senses.     His  perception  of  the  generation  of  contraries    oi 
death  out  of  life,  and  life  out  of  death,  —that  law  by  which, 
in  nature,    decomposition  is  recomposition,  and  putretact 
and  cholera  are  only  signals  of  a  new  creation;  his  die 
ment  of  the  little  in  the  large,  and  the  large  in  the  small 
studying  the  state  in  the  citizen,  and  the  citizen  in  the  state ; 
and  leaving  it  doubtful  whether  he  exhibited  the  Republic  as 
an  allegory  on  the  education  of  the  private  soul ;  his  beau 
ful  definitions  of  ideas,  of  time,  of  form,  of  figure,  of  the  line, 
sometimes  hypothetically  given,  as  his  denning  of  virtue,  COT 
acre,  justice,  temperance  ;  his  love  of  the  apologue,  and  his  apo 
logues  themselves  ;  the  cave  of  Trophonius  ;  the  ring  of  Gyges ; 
tlfe  charioteer  and  two  horses  ;  the  golden,  silver,  brass,  and 
iron  temperaments;    Theuth  and  Thamus ;    and  the   visions 
of  Hades  and  the  Fates,  —  fables  which  have  imprinted  them 
selves  in  the  human  memory  like  the  signs  of  the  zodiac  ;  his 
soliform  eye  and   his  boniform  soul ;  his  doctrine  of  assimil 
tion  •  his  doctrine  of  reminiscence  ;  his  clear  vision  of  the  la*  s 
of  return,  or  reaction,  which  secure  instant  justice  throughout 


PLATO:    NEW    HEADINGS.  45 

the  universe,  instanced  everywhere,  hut  specially  in  the  doc 
trine,  "what  comes  from  God  to  us,  ivturns  from  us  to  God," 
and  in  Socrates'  belief  that  the  laws  below  are  sisters  of  the 
laws  above. 

More  striking  examples  are  his  moral  conclusions.  Plato 
aliirms  the  coincidence  of  science  tuid  virtue;  lor  vice  can 
never  know  itself  and  virtue;  hut  virtue  knows  hoth  itsi-lf 
and  vice.  The  eye  attested  that  justice  was  best,  as  long  as 
it  was  profitable  ;  Plato  affirms  that  it  is  profitable  through 
out ;  that  the  profit  is  intrinsic,  though  the  just  conceal  his 
justice  from  gods  and  men  ;  that  it  is  better  to  sutler  injus 
tice,  than  to  do  it  ;  that  the  sinner  ought  to  covet  punish 
ment  ;  that  the  lie  was  more  hurtful  than  homicide  ;  and  that 
ignorance,  or  the  involuntary  lie,  was  more  calamitous  than  in 
voluntary  homicide  ;  that  the  soul  is  unwillingly  deprived  of 
true  opinions  ;  and  that  no  man  sins  willingly;  that  the  order 
or  proceeding  of  nature  was  from  the  mind  to  the  body  ;  and, 
though  a  sound  body  cannot  restore  an  unsound  mind,  yet  a 
good  soul  can,  by  its  virtue,  render  the  body  the  best  possible. 
The  intelligent  have  a  right  over  the  ignorant,  namely,  the 
right  of  instructing  them.  The  right  punishment  of  one  out  of 
tune,  is  to  make  him  play  in  tune  ;  the  fine  which  the  good, 
refusing  to  govern,  ought  to  pay,  is,  to  be  governed  by  a  worse 
man  ;  that  his  guards  shall  not  handle  gold  and  silver,  but 
shall  be  instructed  that  there  is  gold  and  silver  in  their  souls, 
which  will  make  men  willing  to  give  them  everything  which 
they  need. 

This  second  sight  explains  the  stress  laid  on  geometry.  He 
saw  that  the  globe  of  earth  was  not  more  lawful  and  precise 
than  was  the  supersensible;  that  a  celestial  geometry  was  in 
place  there,  as  a  logic  of  lines  and  angles  here  below  ;  that  the. 
world  was  throughout  mathematical  ;  the  proportions  are  con 
stant  of  oxygen,  a/ote.  and  lime  ;  there  is  just  so  much  water, 
and  slate,  and  magnesia;  not  less  are  the  proportions  constant 
of  the  moral  elements. 

This  eldest  Goethe,  hating  varnish  and  falsehood,  delighted 
in  revealing  the  real  at  the  base  <>f  the  accidental  :  in  discov 
ering  connection,  continuity,  and  representation  everywhere  ; 
hating  insulation  ;  and  appears  like  the  god  of  wealth  among 
the  cabins  of  vagabonds,  opening  power  and  capability  in  every 
thing  he  touches.  Kthical  science  was  new  and  vacant,  when 
Plato  could  write  thus:  "Of  all  whose  ar-juments  are  left 
to  the  men  of  the  present  time,  no  one  has  ever  yet  condemned 


46  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

injustice,  or  praised  justice,  otherwise  than  as  respects  the 
repute,  honors,  and  emoluments  arising  therefrom  ;  while,  as 
respects  either  of  them  in  itself,  and  subsisting  by  its  own 
power  in  the  soul  of  the  possessor,  and  concealed  both  from 
gods  and  men,  no  one  has  yet  sufficiently  investigated,  either 
in  poetry  or  prose  writings,  —  how,  namely,  that  the  one  is  the 
greatest  of  all  the  evils  that  the  soul  has  within  it,  and  justice 
the  greatest  good." 

His  deh'nition  of  ideas,  as  what  is  simple,  permanent,  uni 
form,  and  self-existent,  forever  discriminating  them  from  the 
notions  of  the  understanding,  marks  an  era  in  the  world.  He 
was  born  to  behold  the  self-evolving  power  of  spirit,  endless, 
generator  of  new  ends ;  a  power  which  is  the  key  at  once  to 
the  centrality  and  the  evanescence  of  things.  Plato  is  so 
centred,  that  he  can  well  spare  all  his  dogmas.  Thus  the  fact 
of  knowledge  and  ideas  reveals  to  him  the  fact  of  eternity ; 
and  the  doctrine  of  reminiscence  he  offers  as  the  most  probable 
particular  explication.  Call  that  fanciful,  —  it  matters  not  ; 
the  connection  between  our  knowledge  and  the  abyss  of  being 
is  still  real,  and  the  explication  must  be  not  less  magnificent. 

He  has  indicated  every  eminent  point  in  speculation.  He 
wrote  on  the  scale  of  the"  mind  itself,  so  that  all  things  have 
symmetry  in  his  tablet.  He  put  in  all  the  past,  without 
weariness,  and  descended  into  detail  with  a  courage  like  that 
he  witnessed  in  nature.  One  would  say,  that  his  forerunners 
had  mapped  out  each  a  form,  or  a  district,  or  an  island,  m 
intellectual  geography,  but  that  Plato  first  drew  the  sphere. 
He  domesticates  the  "soul  in  nature  ;  man  is  the  microcosm. 
All  the  circles  of  the  visible  heaven  represent  as  many  circles 
in  the  rational  soul.  There  is  no  lawless  particle,  and  there  is 
nothing  casual  in  the  action  of  the  human  mind.  The  names 
of  things,  too,  are  fatal,  following  the  nature  of  things.  All 
the  o-ods  of  the  Pantheon  are,  by  their  names,  significant  of  a 
profound  sense.  The  gods  are  the  ideas.  Pan  is  speech,  or 
manifestation;  Saturn,  the  contemplative;  Jove,  the  regal 
soul ;  and  Mars,  passion.  Venus  is  proportion  ;  Calliope,  the 
soul  of  the  world  ;  Aglaia,  intellectual  illustration. 

These  thoughts,  in  sparkles  of  light,  had  appeared  often  to 
pious  and  to  poetic  souls  ;  but  this  well-bred,  all-knowing  Greek 
geometer  comes  with  command,  gathers  them  all  up  into  rank 
and  gradation,  the  Euclid  of  holiness,  and  marries  the  two 
parts  of  nature.  Before  all  men,  he  saw  the  intellectual  values 


PLATO:    XKW    READINGS.  47 

of  the  moral  sentiment.     He  describes  his  own  ideal,  when  he 

paints  in  Tinueus  a  god  loading  tilings  troni  disorder  into  order. 
He  kimll.d  a  liiv  so  truly  in  the  centre,  that  we  see  the 
sphere  illuminated,  and  can  distinguish  poles,  equator,  and 
lines  of  latitude,  every  arc  and  node  :  a  theory  so  avera.ired,  so 
modulated  that  you  would  say,  the  winds  of  ages  had  swept 
through  this  rhythmic  structure,  and  not  that  it  was  the  brief 
extempore  blotting  of  one  short-lived  scribe.  Hence  it  has 
happened  that  a  very  well-marked  class  of  souls,  namely,  those 
who  delight  in  giving  a  spiritual,  that  is,  an  ethico-intellect  ual 
expression  to  every  truth,  by  exhibiting  an  ulterior  end  which 
legitimate  to  it,  are  said  to  Platonize.  Thus,  Michel 
Angelo  is  a  Platonist,  in  his  sonnets.  Shakespeare  is  a  Platon- 
ist,  when  he  writes,  k>  Nature  is  made  better  by  no  mean,  but 
nature  makes  that  mean,"  or, 

"  He  that  can  endure 
To  follow  with  allf'srianrc  a  fallen  lord, 
Does  conquer  him  that  did  his  master  conquer, 
And  earns  a  place  in  the  >tory." 

Hamlet  is  a  pure  Platonist,  and  't  is  the  magnitude  only  of 
Shakespeare's  proper  genius  that  hinders  him  from  being  classed 
as  the  most  eminent  of  this  school.  Swedenborg,  throughout 
his  prose  poem  of  "Conjugal  Love,"  is  a  Platonist. 

His  subtlety  commended  him  to  men  of  thought.  The 
secret  of  his  popular  success  is  the  moral  aim,  which  endeared 
him  to  mankind.  "  Intellect,"  he  said,  "  is  king  of  heaven 
and  of  earth";  but,  in  Plato,  intellect  is  always  moral.  His 
writings  have  also  the  sempiternal  youth  of  poetry.  For  their 
arguments,  most  of  them,  might  have  been  couched  in  son- 
and  poetry  has  never  soared  higher  than  in  the  Timtcus 
and  the  Ph;edrus.  As  the  poet,  too,  he  is  only  contemplative. 
He  did  not,  like  Pythagoras,  break  himself  with  an  institution. 
All  his  painting  in  the  Republic  must  be  esteemed  mythical, 
with  intent  to  bring  out,  sometimes  in  violent  colors,  his 
thought.  You  cannot  institute,  without  peril  of  charlatanism. 

It  was  a  high  scheme,  his  absolute  privilege  for  the  best. 
(which,  to  make  emphatic,  he  expressed  by  community  of 
women.)  as  the  premium  which  he  would  set  on  grandeur. 
There  shall  be  exempts  of  two  kinds:  first,  those  who  by  <!••- 
merit  have  put  themselves  below  protection,  —  outlaws;  and 
secondly,  those  who  by  eminence  of  nature  and  desert  are  out 
of  tin;  reach  of  your  rewards  :  let  such  be  free  of  the  city,  and 
above  the  law.  We  confide  them  to  themselves;  let  them  do 


48  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 

with  us  as  they  will.     Let  none  presume  to  measure  the  irreg 
ularities  of  Michel  Angelo  and  Socrates  by  village  scales. 

In  his  eighth  book  of  the  Republic,  he  throws  a  little 
mathematical  dust  in  our  eyes.  1  am  sorry  to  see  him,  alter 
such  noble  superiorities,  permitting  the  lie  to  governors.  Plato 
plays  Providence  a  little  with  the  baser  sort,  as  people  allow 
themselves  with  their  dogs  and  cats. 


III. 

SWEDENBORG;  OR,  THE  MYSTIC. 


TOL.  ii.  2 


UNIVERSITY 


SWEDENBORG;   OR,  THE  MYSTIC. 


A  MOXG  eminent  persons,  those  who  are  most  dear  to 
/-\  men  are  not  of  the  class  which  the  economist  calls  pro 
ducers  :  they  have  nothing  in  their  hands  ;  they  have  not  cul 
tivated  corn,  nor  made  bread ;  they  have  not  led  out  a  colony, 
nor  invented  a  loom.  A  higher  class,  in  the  estimation  and 
love  of  this  city-building,  market-going  race  of  mankind,  are 
the  poets  who,  from  the  intellectual  kingdom,  feed  the 
thought  and  imagination  with  ideas  and  pictuivs  which  raise 
mrn  out  of  the  world  of  corn  and  inonev,  and  console  them  for 
the  Bh0rt-OOmingB  of  the  dav,  and  the  meanness  of  labor  and 
tratlie.  Then,  also,  the  philosopher  has  his  value,  who  Hatters 
the  intellect  of  this  laborer,  by  en-aging  him  with  subtleties 
which  instruct  him  in  new  faculties.  Others  may  build  cit 
ies  ;  he  is  to  understand  them,  and  keep  them  in  awe.  But 
there  is  a  class  who  lead  us  into  another  region,  — the  world 
of  morals,  or  of  will.  What  is  singular  about  this  region  of 
thought,  is  its  claim.  Wherever  the  sentiment  of  right  comes 
in,  it  takes  precedence  of  everything  else.  For  other  things.  L 
make  poetry  of  them ;  but  the  moral  sentiment  makes  poetry 
of  me. 

I  have  sometimes  thought  that  he  would  render  the  greatest 
service  to  modern  criticism,  who  shall  draw  the  line  of  relation 
that  subsists  between  Shakespeare  and  Swedenhorir.  The  hu 
man  mind  stands  ever  in  perplexity,  demanding  intellect, 
demanding  sanctity,  impatient  equally  of  each  without  the 
other.  The  reconciler  has  not  yet  appeared.  If  we  tire  of 
the  saints,  Shakespeare  is  our  city  of  refuge.  Yet  the  instincts 
presently  teach,  that  the  problem  of  essence  must  tnkc  prece 
dence  of  all  others,  — the  questions  of  Whence?  What  /  and 
Whither?  and  the  solution  of  these  must  be  in  a  life,  and  not 
ill  a  book.  A  drama  or  poem  is  a  proximate  or  oblique  reply  ; 


52  REPRESENTATIVE   .MEN. 

but  Moses,  Menu,  Jesus,  work  directly  on  this  problem.  The 
atmosphere  of  moral  sentiment  is  a  region  of  grandeur  which 
reduces  all  material  magnificence  to  toys,  yet  opens  to  every 
wretch  that  has  reason  the  doors  of  the  universe.  Almost 
with  a  fierce  haste  it  lays  its  empire  on  the  man.  In  the  lan- 
gua^e  of  the  Koran,  "  God  said,  the  heaven  and  the  earth,  and 
all  that  is  between  them,  think  ye  that  we  created  them  in 
jest  and  that  ye  shall  not  return  to  us  ?"  It  is  the  kingdom 
of  the  will,  and  by  inspiring  the  will,  which  is  the  seat  of  per 
sonality,  seems  to  convert  the  universe  into  a  person  ; 

il  The  realms  of  being  to  no  other  bow, 
Not  only  all  are  thine,  but  all  are  Thou." 

All  men  are  commanded  by  the  saint.  The  Koran  makes  a 
distinct  class  of  those  who  are  by  nature  good,  and  whose 
goodness  has  an  influence  on  others,  and  pronounces  this 
class  to  be  the  aim  of  creation :  the  other  classes  are  admitted 
to  the  feast  of  being,  only  as  following  in  the  tram  of  this. 
And  the  Persian  poet  exclaims  to  a  soul  of  this  kind  :  - 

"  Go  boldly  forth,  and  feast  on  being's  banquet; 
Thou  art  the  called,  — the  rest  admitted  with  thee." 

The  privilege  of  this    class  is  an  access  to   the  secrets  and 
structure  of  nature,  by  some  higher  method  than  by  experi 
ence.     In  common  parlance,  what  one  man  is  said  to  learn  by 
experience,  a  man  of  extraordinary  sagacity  is  said,  without  ex 
perience,  to  divine.     The  Arabians  say  that  Abul  Kham,  the 
mvstic  and  Abu  Ali  Seena,  the  philosopher,  conferred  togeth 
er  ;   and,  on  parting,  the  philosopher  said,  "  All  that  he  sees   I 
know  "  ;  and  the  mystic  said,  "  All  that  he  knows,  I  see. 
one  should  ask  the  reason  of  this  intuition,  the  solution  would 
lead  us  into  that  property  which  Plato  denoted  as  Reminis 
cence,  and  which  is  implied  by  the  Bramins  in  the  tenet  ot 
Transmigration.     The  soul  having  been  often  born,  or  as  the 
Hindoos  say,  "  travelling  the  path  of  existence  through  thou 
sands  of  births,"  having  beheld  the  things  which  are  here,  those 
which  are   in  heaven,  and   those  which  are  beneath,  there  is 
nothing  of  which  she  has  not  gained  the  knowledge:  no  won 
der  that  she  is  able  to  recollect,  in  regard  to  any  one  thing, 
what  formerly  she  knew.     "  For,  all  things  in  nature  being 
linked  and  related,  and  the  soul  having  heretofore  known  all, 
nothin^  hinders  but  that  any  man  who  has  recalled 
or,  according    to  the  common  phrase,  has  learned  one  1 
only,  should  of  himself  recover  all  his  ancient  knowledge,  am 


;     OR,    TIIK    MYSTIC.  53 

find  out  again  all  the  rest,  if  In-  him*  but  OOUl»ge,  and  faint 
not  in  the  midst  of  liis  researches.  For  inquiry  and  learning 
is  reminiaoenoe  all."  How  much  more,  if  lie  that  inquires  he 
a  Imly  and  godlike  soul  .'  l-'or,  by  being  assimilated  to  the 
original  soul,  hy  whom,  and  after  whom,  all  things  subsist,  the 
soul  of  man  does  then  easily  (low  into  all  things,  and  all  things 
How  into  it  :  they  mix  ;  and  he  is  present  and  sympathetic 
with  their  structure  and  law. 

This  path  is  difficult,  secret,  and  beset  with  terror.  The 
ancients  called  it .  rcdnxi/  or  absence,  —  a  getting  out  of  their 
bodies  to  think.  All  religious  history  contains  traces  of  the 
trance  of  saints,  —  a  beatitude,  but  without  any  sign  of  jov, 
earnest,  solitary,  even  sad;  "the  flight,"  Plotinus  called  it, 
"of  the  alone  to  the  alone";  Mveo-is,  the  closing  of  the 
—  whence  our  word,  J///*//V.  The  trail. -cs  of  Socrates.  1'loti- 
nus,  Porphyry,  Behmen,  Bunyan,  Kox,  Pascal,  Cuion,  Swcden- 
borg,  will  readily  come  to  mind.  Hut  what  as  readily  comes 
to  mind,  is,  the  accompaniment  of  disease.  This  beatitude 
OOmefl  in  terror,  and  with  shocks  to  the  mind  of  the  receiver. 
"It  o'er-informs  the  tenement  of  clay,"  and  drive's  the  man 
mad;  or,  gives  a  certain  violent  bias,  which  taints  his  judg 
ment.  In  the  chief  examples  of  religious  illumination,  some 
what  morbid  has  mingled,  in  spite  of  the  unquestionable  hi' 
Crease  of  mental  power.  Must  the  highest  good  drag  after  it 
a  quality  which  neutralizes  and  discredits  it?  — 

"  Indeed,  it  takes 

From  our  achievements,  when  performed  at  height, 
The  pith  and  marrow  of  our  attribute.1' 

Shall  we  say,  that  the  economical  mother  disburses  so  much 
earth  and  so  much  fire,  by  weight  and  metre,  to  make  a  man, 
and  will  not  .add  a  pennyweight,  though  a  nation  is  perishing 
for  a  leader?  Therefore,  the  men  of  (Jod  purchased  their  sci 
ence  by  folly  or  pain.  If  you  will  have  pure  carbon,  car 
buncle,  OF  diamond,  to  make  the  brain  transparent,  the  trunk 
and  organs  shall  be  so  much  the  grosser:  instead  of  porcelain, 
they  are  potter's  earth,  clay,  or  mud. 

In  modern  times,  no  such  remarkable  example  of  this  intro 
verted  mind  has  occurred,  as  in  Kmanuel  Swedcnborg,  horn 
in  Stockholm,  in  lliSS.  This  man.  who  appeared  to  his  con 
temporaries  a  visionarv,  and  elixir  of  moonbeams,  no  doubt 
led  the  most  real  life  of  any  man  then  in  the  world  :  and  now, 
when  the  royal  and  ducal  1-Yederics,  Crist  ierns,  and  Unilis- 
wicks,  of  that  day,  have  slid  into  oblivion,  he  begins  to  spread 


54  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

himself  into  the  minds  of  thousands.  As  happens  in  great 
men,  he  seemed,  by  the  variety  and  amount  of  his  powers,  to 
be  a  composition  of  several  persons,  -  like  the  giant  fruits 
which  are  matured  in  gardens  by  the  union  of  four  or 
single  blossoms.  His  frame  is  on  a  larger  scale,  and  possesses 
the"  advantages  of  size.  As  it  is  easier  to  see  the  reflection 
of  the  great  sphere  in  large  globes,  though  defaced  by  some 
crack  or  blemish,  than  in  drops  of  water,  so  men  of  large 
calibre  though  with  some  eccentricity  or  madness,  like  1  ascai 
or  Newton,  help  us  more  than  balanced  mediocre  minds 

His  youth  and  training  could  not  fail  to  be  extraordinary. 
Such  a  boy  could  not  whistle  or  dance,  but  goes  grubbing  into 
mines  and  mountains,  prying  into  chemistry,  optics    physiol 
ogy    mathematics,  and  astronomy,  to  find  images  fi 
measure    of  his  versatile    and   capacious    brain.     He    was   a 
scholar  from  a  child,  and  was  educated  at  Upsala.     At -the 
age  of  twenty-eight,  he  was  made  Assessor  of  the  Board  of 
Mines,  by  Charles  XII.     In  1716,  he  left  home  for  four  years 
and  visited  the  universities  of  England,  Holland,  France  and 
Germany.     He  performed  a  notable  feat  of  engineering  in  1  U  b, 
at  the  "siege   of  Fredericshall,   by   hauling  two    galleys    five 
boats,  and  a  sloop,  some  fourteen  English  miles  overland,  for 
the  royal  service.     In  1721,  he  journeyed  over  Europe    to 
examine  mines  and  smelting-works.     He  published,  in  1716, 
his  Daedalus  Hyperboreus,  and,  from  this  time,  for  the  next 
thirty  years,  was  employed  in  the  composition  and  publication 
of  his  scientific  works/   With  the  like  force,  he  threw  him 
self  into  theology.      In  1743,   when  he  was  fifty-four  years 
old  what  is  called  his  illumination  began.     All  his  metallurgy, 
and  transportation  of  ships  overland,  was  absorbed  into  this 
ecstasy.     He   ceased  to    publish    any  more    scientific    books, 
withdrew  from  his  practical   labors,  and  devoted  himself  to 
the  writing   and   publication    of  his  voluminous   theological 
works,  which  were  printed  at  his  own  expense,  or  at  that  ot 
the  Duke  of  Brunswick,  or  other  prince,  at  Dresden,  Leipsic, 
London   or  Amsterdam.     Later,  he  resigned  his  office  ot  As 
sessor  :  the  salary  attached  to  this  office  continued  to  be  paid 
to  him  during  his  life.     His  duties  had  brought  him  into  inti 
mate  acquaintance  with  King  Charles  XII.,  by  whom  he  was 
much  consulted  and  honored.     The  like  favor  was  continued 
to  him  by  his  successor.     At  the  Diet  of  1751,  Count  Hopken 
says  the  most  solid  memorials  on  finance  were  from  his  pen. 
In  Sweden,  he  appears  to  have  attracted  a  marked  regard. 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,   THE   MYSTIC.  55 

His  rare  science  and  practical  skill,  and  the  added  fame  of 
second  sight  and  extraordinary  religious  knowledge  and  gifts, 
drew  to  him  queens,  nobles,  clergy,  shipmasters,  and  people 
about  the  ports  through  which  he  was  wont  to  pass  in  his 
many  voyages.  The  clergy  interfered  a  little  with  the  im 
portation  and  publication  of  his  religious  works  ;  but  he  serins 
to  have  kept  the  friendship  of  men  in  power.  He  was  never 
married.  He  had  great  modesty  and  gentleness  of  bearing. 
His  habits  were  simple  ;  he  lived  on  bread,  rnilk,  and  vege 
tables ;  he  lived  in  a  house  situated  in  a  large  garden:  he 
went  several  times  to  England,  where  he  does  not  seem  to 
have  attracted  any  attention  whatever  from  the  learned  or  the 
eminent;  and  died  at  London,  March  29,  1772,  of  apoplexy, 
in  his  eighty-fifth  year.  He  is  described,  when  in  London,  as 
a  man  of  a  quiet,  clerical  habit,  not  averse  to  tea  and  cotl'ee, 
and  kind  to  children.  He  wore  a  sword  when  in  full  velvet 
dress,  and  whenever  he  walked  out,  carried  a  gold-headed 
cane.  There  is  a  common  portrait  of  him  in  antique  coat  and 
wig,  but  the  face  has  a  wandering  or  vacant  air. 

The  genius  which  was  to  penetrate  the  science  of  the  age 
with  a  far  more  subtle  science  ;  to  pass  the  bounds  of  space 
and  time  ;  venture  into  the  dim  spirit-realm,  and  attempt  to 
establish  a  new  religion  in  the  world,  —  began  its  lessons  in 
quarries  and  forges,  in  the  smelting-pot  and  crucible,  in  ship 
yards  and  dissecting-rooms.  No  one  man  is  perhaps  able  to 
judge  of  the  merits  of  his  works  on  so  many  subjects.  One 
is  glad  to  learn  that  his  books  on  mines  and  metals  arc  held  in 
the  highest  esteem  by  those  who  understand  these  matters. 
It  seems  that  he  anticipated  much  science  of  the  nineteenth 
century ;  anticipated,  in  astronomy,  the  discovery  of  the 
seventh  planet,  —  but,  unhappily,  not  also  of  the  eighth  ;  anti 
cipated  the  views  of  modern  astronomy  in  regard  to  the  gen 
eration  of  earths  by  the  sun  ;  in  magnetism,  some  important 
experiments  and  conclusions  of  later  students;  in  chemistry, 
the  atomic  theory  ;  in  anatomy,  the  discoveries  of  Sclilielitin-j-, 
MoniOj  and  Wilson  ;  and  first  demonstrated  the  ottice  of  the 
lungs.  His  excellent  English  editor  magnanimously  lays  no 
stress  on  his  discoveries,  since  he  was  too  great  to  care  to  be 
original  ;  and  we  are  to  judge,  by  what  he  can  spare,  of  what 
remains. 

A  colossal  soul,  he  lies  vast  abroad  on  his  times,  imcompre- 
hendcd  by  them,  and  requires  a  long  local  distance  to  be  seen  ; 
suggests,  as  Aristotle,  Bacon,  Seklun,  Humboldt,  that  a  certain 


56  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

vastness  of  learning,  or  quasi  omnipresence  of  the  human  soul 
in  nature,  is  possible.  His  superb  speculation,  as  from  a  tower, 
over  nature  and  arts,  without  ever  losing  sight  of  the  texture 
and  sequence  of  things,  almost  realizes  his  own  picture,  in  his 
"  Principia,"  of  the  original  integrity  of  man.  Over  and  above 
the  merit  of  his  particular  discoveries,  is  the  capital  merit  of 
his  self-equality.  A  drop  of  water  has  the  properties  of  the 
sea,  but  cannot  exhibit  a  storm.  There  is  beauty  of  a  concert, 
as  well  as  of  a  flute  ;  strength  of  a  host,  as  well  as  of  a  hero  ; 
and,  in  Swedenborg,  those  who  are  best  acquainted  with  mod 
ern  books  will  most  admire  the  merit  of  mass.  One  of  the 
missouriums  and  mastodons  of  literature,  he  is  not  to  be  meas 
ured  by  whole  colleges  of  ordinary  scholars.  His  stalwart 
presence  would  flutter  the  gowns  of  a  university.  Our  books 
are  false  by  being  fragmentary  :  their  sentences  are  bonmots, 
and  not  parts  of  natural  discourse  ;  childish  expressions  of 
surprise  or  pleasure  in  nature  ;  or,  worse,  owing  a  brief  noto 
riety  to  their  petidance,  or  aversion  from  the  order  of  nature, 
—  being  some  curiosity  or  oddity,  designedly  not  in  harmony 
with  nature,  and  purposely  framed  to  excite  surprise,  as  jug 
glers  do  by  concealing  their  means.  But  Swedenborg  is  svs- 
tematic,  and  respective  of  the  world  in  every  sentence  :  all  the 
means  arc  orderly  given  ;  his  faculties  work  with  astronomic 
punctuality,  and  this  admirable  writing  is  pure  from  all  pert- 
ness  or  egotism. 

Swedenborg  was  born  into  an  atmosphere  of  great  ideas. 
'T  is  hard  to  say  what  was  his  own  :  yet  his  life  was  dignified 
by  noblest  pictures  of  the  universe.  The  robust  Aristotelian 
method,  with  its  breadth  and  adequateness,  shaming  our  sterile 
and  linear  logic  by  its  genial  radiation,  conversant  with  series 
and  degree,  with  effects  and  ends,  skilful  to  discriminate  pow 
er  from  form,  essence  from  accident,  and  opening,  by  its  termi 
nology  and  definition,  high  roads  into  nature,  had  trained  a 
race  of  athletic  philosophers.  Harvey  had  shown  the  circula 
tion  of  the  blood ;  Gilbert  had  shown  that  the  earth  was  a 
magnet  ;  Descartes,  taught  by  Gilbert's  magnet,  with  its  vor 
tex,  spiral,  and  polarity,  had  filled  Europe  with  the  leading 
thought  of  vortical  motion,  as  the  secret  of  nature.  Newton, 
in  the  year  in  which  Swedenborg  was  born,  published  the 
"  Principia,"  and  established  the  universal  gravity.  Malpighi, 
following  the  high  doctrines  of  Hippocrates,  Leucippus,  and 
Lucretius,  had  given  emphasis  to  the  dogma  that  nature  works 
in  leasts,  —  "  tota  in  minimis  exist  it  natura."  Unrivalled  dis- 


s\VKi>KXp,i)i;r, ;   on,  THE  MYSTIC.  57 

sectors,  S\vammcrd;un,  Lccmvenhoek,  Win  slow,  Kiistaehius, 
Hcistor,  Vesalius,  JJoerhaave,  h;ul  left  nothing  for  sculp.  1  or 
microscope  to  reveal  in  human  or  comparative  anatomy  ;  Lin 
naeus,  his  contemporary,  was  affirming,  in  his  beautiful  sci 
ence,  that  "Nature  is  always  like  herself  ";  and,  lastly,  the 
nobilitv  of  method,  the  largest  application  of  principles,  had 
been  exhibited  by  Leibnitz  and  Christian  \Volff,  in  cosmology; 
whilst  Locke  and  Grotius  had  drawn  the  moral  argument. 
What  was  left  for  a  genius  of  the  largest  calibre,  but  to  go 
over  their  ground,  and  verity  and  unite  'I  It  is  easy  to  see,  in 
these  minds,  the  origin  of  Swedenborg's  studies,  and  the  sug 
gestion  of  his  problems.  He  had  a  capacity  to  entertain  and 
vivify  these  volumes  of  thought.  Yet  the  proximity  of  these 
geniuses,  one  or  other  of  whom  had  introduced  all  his  leading 
ideas,  makes  Swedenborg  another  example  of  the  difficulty, 
even  in  a  highly  fertile  genius,  of  proving  originality,  the  first 
birth  and  annunciation  of  one  of  the  laws  of  nature. 

He  named  his  favorite  views,  the  doctrine  of  Forms,  the  doc 
trine  of  Series  and  Decrees,  the  doctrine  of  Influx,  the  doctrine 
of  Correspondence.  His  statement  of  these  doctrines  deserves 
to  be  studied  hi  his  books.  Not  every  man  can  read  them, 
but  they  will  reward  him  who  can.  His  thcologic  works  aro 
valuable  to  illustrate  these.  His  writings  would  be  a  sufficient 
library  to  a  lonely  and  athletic  student ;  and  the  "  Economy 
of  the  Animal  Kingdom  "  is  one  of  those  books  which,  by  the 
sustained  dignity  of  thinking,  is  an  honor  to  the  human  race. 
He  had  studied  spars  and  rnetals  to  some  purpose.  His  varied 
and  solid  knowledge  makes  his  style  lustrous  with  points  and 
shooting  spicula  of  thought,  and  resembling  one  of  those  win 
ter  morn  ings  when  the  air  sparkles  with  crystals.  The  gran 
deur  of  the  topics  makes  the  grandeur  of  the  style.  He  was 
apt  for  cosmology,  because  of  that  native  perception  of  iden 
tity  which  made  mere  size  of  no  account  to  him.  In  the 
atom  of  magnetic  iron,  ho  saw  the  quality  which  would  gen 
erate  the  spiral  motion  of  sun  and  planet. 

The  thoughts  in  which  he  lived  were,  the  universality  of 
each  law  in  nature;  the  Platonic  doctrine  of  the  scale  or  de 
grees  ;  the  version  or  conversion  of  each  into  other,  and  so  the 
correspondence  of  all  the  parts  ;  the  fine  secret  that  little  ex 
plains  l.iru'e,  and  large,  little  ;  the  centrality  of  man  in  nature, 
and  the  connection  that  subsists  throughout  all  things  :  lie  saw 
that  the  human  body  was  strictly  universal,  or  an  instrument 
through  which  the  soul  feeds  and  is  fed  by  the  whole  of  mat- 
3* 


58  REPRESENTATIVE    MEN. 

ter  •  so  that  he  held,  in  exact  antagonism  to  the  sceptics  that 
«  the  wiser  a  man  is,  the  more  will  he  be  a  worshipper  of  the 
Deity  "  In  short,  he  was  a  believer  in  the  Identity-philoso- 
phy,  which  he  held  not  idly,  as  the  dreamers  of  Berlin  or  Bos 
ton,  but  which  he  experimented  with  and  established  through 
years  of  labor,  with  the  heart  and  strength  of  the  rudest  Vik 
ing  that  his  rough  Sweden  ever  sent  to  battle. 

This  theory  dates  from  the  oldest  philosophers,  and  derives 
perhaps  its  best  illustration  from  the  newest.     It  is  this  :  that 
nature  iterates  her  means  perpetually  on  successive  planes. 
In  the   old   aphorism,  nature  is  always  self-similar,     in  t 
plant,  the   eye  or  germinative  point  opens  to  a  leaf,  then  to 
another  leaf,"  with  a  power  of  transforming  the  leaf  into  radicle, 
stamen,  pistil,  petal,  bract,  sepal,  or  seed.     The  whole  art  of 
the  plant  is  still  to  repeat  leaf  on  leaf  without  end,  the  more 
or  less  of  heat,  light,  moisture,  and  food  determining  the  form 
it  shall  assume.     In  the  animal,  nature  makes  a  vertebra,  or  a 
spine  of  vertebra,  and  helps  herself  still  by  a  new  spine,  with 
a  limited  power  of  modifying  its  form,  —  spine  on  spine,  to  the 
end  of  the  world.     A  poetic  anatomist,  in  our  own  day,  teaches 
that  a  snake,  being  a  horizontal  line,  and  man,  being  an  erect 
line,  constitute  a  right  angle;  and,  between  the  lines  of  this 
mvstical  quadrant,  all  animated  beings  find  their  place  :  and  he 
assumes  the  hair-worm,  the  span-worm,  or  the  snake,  as  the  type 
or  prediction  of  the  spine.     Manifestly,  at  the  end  of  the  spine, 
nature  puts   out  smaller  spines,  as  arms  ;  at  the  end 
arms,  new  snines,  as  hands ;  at  the  other  end,  she  repeats  the 
process,  as  legs  and  feet.     At  the  top  of  the  column,  she  puts 
out   another  ^spine,  which  doubles  or  loops   itself  over,  as  a 
span-worm,  into  a  ball,  and  forms  the  skull,  with  extremiti 
aUin  :  the  hands  being  now  the  upper  jaw,  the  feet  the  lower 
iaw,  the  fingers  and  toes  being  represented  this  time  by  upper 
and  lower  teeth.     This  new  spine  is  destined  to  high  uses.     It 
is  a  new  man  on  the  shoulders  of  the  last.     It  can  almost  g 
its  trunk,  and  manage  to  live  alone,  according  to  the  Platonic 
idea  in  the  Timams.     Within  it,  on  a  higher  plane,  all  that 
was  done  in  the  trunk  repeats  itself.     Nature  recites  her  les 
son  once  more  in  a  higher  mood.     The  mind  is  a  finer  body, 
and  resumes  its  functions  of  feeding,  digesting,  absorbing,  ex 
cluding,  and  generating,  in  a  new  and  ethereal  element      Here, 
in  the^brain,  is  all  the  process  of  alimentation  repeated,  in  the 
acquiring,  comparing,  digesting,  and  assimilating  of  experience. 
Here  again  is  the   mystery  of  generation  repeated.      In  t 


SWEDEXBORG  ;    OR,   THE   MYSTIC.  59 

brain  arc  male  ami  female  faculties  :  here  is  marriage,  here  is 
fruit.  And  there  is  no  limit  to  this  ascending  scale,  but.  series 
on  series.  Everything,  at  the  end  of  one  use,  is  taken  up  into 
the  next,  each  series  punctually  repeating  every  organ  and 
process  of  the  last.  We  are  adapted  to  infinity.  We  are  hard 
to  please,  and  love  nothing  which  ends  :  and  in  nature  is  no 
end  ;  but  everything,  at  the  end  of  one  use,  is  lifted  into  a 
superior,  and  the  ascent  of  these  things  climbs  into  demonic 
and  celestial  natures.  Creative  force,  like  a  musical  composer, 
goes  on  umveariedly  repeating  a  simple  air  or  theme,  now  high, 
now  low,  in  solo,  in  chorus,  ten  thousand  times  reverberated, 
till  it  fills  earth  and  heaven  with  the  chant. 

Gravitation,  as  explained  by  Newton,  is  good  ;  but  grander, 
when  we  find  chemistry  only  an  extension  of  the  law  of  masses 
into  particles,  and  that  the  atomic  theory  shows  the  action  of 
chemistry  to  be  mechanical  also.  Metaphvsics  shows  us  a  sort 
of  gravitation,  operative  also  in  the  mental  phenomena  ;  and 
the  terrible  tabulation  of  the  French  statists  brings  every 
piece  of  whim  and  humor  to  be  reducible  also  to  exact  numeri 
cal  ratios.  If  one  man  in  twenty  thousand,  or  in  thirty  thou 
sand,  eats  shoes,  or  marries  his  grandmother,  then  in  every 
twenty  thousand,  or  thirty  thousand,  is  found  one  man  who 
eats  shoes,  or  marries  his  grandmother.  What  we  call  gravi 
tation,  and  fancy  ultimate,  is  one  fork  of  a  mightier  stream, 
for  which  we  have  yet  no  name.  Astronomy  is  excellent  ;  but 
it  must  come  np  into  life  to  have  its  full  value,  and  not  re 
main  there  in  globes  and  spaces.  The  globule  of  blood  gyrates 
around  its  own  axis  in  the  human  veins,  as  the  planet  in  the 
sky  ;  and  the  circles  of  intellect  relate  to  those  of  the  heavens. 
Each  law  of  nature  has  the  like  universality  ;  eating,  sleep  or 
hibernation,  rotation,  generation,  metamorphosis,  vortical  mo 
tion,  which  is  seen  in  eggs  as  in  planets.  These  grand  rhymes 
or  returns  in  nature,  —  the  dear,  best-known  face  startling  us 
at  every  turn,  under  a  mask  so  unexpected  that  we  think  it 
the  face  of  a  stranger,  and  carrving  up  the  semblance  into  di 
vine  forms,  —  delighted  the  prophetic  eye  of  Swedenborg  ;  and 
he  must  be  reckoned  a  leader  in  that  revolution,  which,  by  giv 
ing  to  science  an  idea,  has  given  to  an  aimless  accumulation  of 
experiments,  guidance  and  form,  and  a  beating  heart. 

I  own,  with  some  regret,  that  his  printed  works  amount  to 
about  fifty  stout  octavos,  his  scientific  works  being  about  half 
of  the  whole  number  ;  and  it  appears  that  a  mass  of  manu 
script  still  unedited  remains  in  the  royal  library  at  Stockholm. 


CO  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

The  scientific  works  have  just  now  been  translated  into  Engf 
lish,  in  an  excellent  edition. 

Swedenborg  printed  these  scientific  books  in  the  ten  years 
from  1734  to  1744,  and  they  remained  from  that  time  neg 
lected  :  and  now,  after  their  century  is  complete,  he  has  at 
last  found  a  pupil  in  Mr.  Wilkinson,  in  London,  a  philosophic 
critic,  with  a  coequal  vigor  of  understanding  and  imagination 
comparable  only  to  Lord  Bacon's,  who  has  produced  his  mas 
ter's  buried  books  to  the  day,  and  transferred  them,  with 
every  advantage,  from  their  forgotten  Latin  into  English,  to 
go  round  the  world  in  our  commercial  and  conquering  tongue. 
This  startling  reappearance  of  Swedenborg,  after  a  hundred 
years,  in  his  pupil,  is  not  the  least  remarkable  fact  in  his  his 
tory.  Aided,  it  is  said,  by  the  munificence  of  Mr.  Clissold, 
and  also  by  his  literary  skill,  this  piece  of  poetic  justice  is 
done.  The  admirable  preliminary  discourses  with  which  Mr. 
Wilkinson  has  enriched  these  volumes,  throw  all  the  contem 
porary  philosophy  of  England  into  shade,  and  leave  me  noth 
ing  to  say  on  their  proper  grounds. 

The  "Animal  Kingdom"  is  a  book  of  wonderful  merits. 
It  was  written  with  the  highest  end,  —  to  put  science  and  the 
soul,  long  estranged  from  each  other,  at  one  again.  It  was  an 
anatomist's  account  of  the  human  body,  in  the  highest  style 
of  poetry.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  bold  and  brilliant  treat 
ment  of  a  subject  usually  so  dry  and  repulsive.  He  saw  na 
ture  "  wreathing  through  an  everlasting  spiral,  with  wheels 
that  never  dry,  on  axles  that  never  creak,"  and  sometimes 
sought  "  to  uncover  those  secret  recesses  where  Nature  is  sit 
ting  at  the  fires  in  the  depths  of  her  laboratory  "  ;  whilst  the 
picture  comes  recommended  by  the  hard  fidelity  with  which 
it  is  based  on  practical  anatomy.  It  is  remarkable  that  this 
sublime  genius  decides,  peremptorily  for  the  analytic,  against 
the  synthetic  method ;  and,  in  a  book  whose  genius  is  a  dar 
ing  poetic  synthesis,  claims  to  confine  himself  to  a  rigid  ex 
perience. 

He  knows,  if  ho  only,  the  flowing  of  nature,  and  how  wise 
was  that  old  answer  of  Amasis  to  him  who  bade  him  drink  up 
the  sea,  —  "  Yes,  willingly,  if  you  will  stop  the  rivers  that  flow 
in."  Few  knew  as  much  about  nature  and  her  subtle  man- 
nerg;  or  expressed  more  subtly  her  goings.  He  thought  as 
large  a  demand  is  made  on  our  faith  by  nature,  as  by  mira 
cles.  "  He  noted  that  in  her  proceeding  from  first  principles 
through  her  several  subordinations,  there  was  no  state  through 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,   THE   MYSTIC.  fil 

•which  she  did  not  pass,  as  if  her  path  la}'  through  all  things." 
"For  as  often  as  she  betakes  herself  upward  t'n>m  visible 
])heiioiiieua,  or,  in  other  words,  withdraws  herself  inward,  she 
instantly,  as  it  wore,  disappears,  while  110  one  knows  what  has 
become  of  her,  or  whither  she  is  gone  :  so  that  it  is  nee- 
to  take  science  as  a  guide  in  pursuing  her  sti-ps." 

The  pursuing  the  inquiry  under  the  light  of  an  end  or  final 
cause,  gives  wonderful  animation,  a  sort  of  personality  to  the 
whole  writing.  This  book  announces  his  favorite  dogmas. 
The  ancient  doctrine  of  Hippocrates,  that  the  brain  is  a 
gland ;  and  of  Leucippus,  that  the  atom  may  be  known  by 
the  mass  ;  or,  in  Plato,  the  macrocosm  by  the  microcosm  j 
and,  in  the  verses  of  Lucretius,  — 

O^sa  videlicet  e  pauxillis  atque  minutis 
()<siini-  sic  ct  de  panxillis  atque  minutis 
Viseeribus  vi>cu-  :_ri ;::;i,  sanguenque  creari 
Sanguinis  inter  so  multi.s  coeiintibus  guttis; 
Ex  aurique  putat  micis  consistere  posse 
Aurum,  et  de  terris  terrain  concrescere  parvis: 
Ignibus  ex  igiieis,  humorcm  humoribus  ease. 

LIB.  I.  835. 

"  The  principle  of  all  things,  entrails  made 
Of  smallest  entrails;  bone,  of  smallest  bone; 
Blood,  of  small  sanguine  drops  n-liiced  to  one; 
Gold,  of  small  grains;  oartb,  of  small  sands  compacted; 
Small  drops  to  water,  sparks  to  fire  contracted  "  : 

and  which  Malpighi  had  summed  in  his  maxim,  that  "nature 
exists  entire  in  beasts,"  —  is  a  favorite  thought  of  Sweden- 
bofg.  "  It  is  a  constant  law  of  the  organic  body,  that  large, 
compound,  or  visible  forms  exist  and  subsist  from  smaller, 
simpler,  and  ultimately  from  invisible  forms,  which  act  simi 
larly  to  the  larger  ones,  but  more  perfectly  and  more  uni 
versally  ;  and  the  least  forms  so  perfectly  and  universally,  as 
to  involve  an  idea  representative  of  their  entire  universe." 
The  unities  of  each  organ  are  so  many  little  organs,  homo 
geneous  with  their  compound  :  the  unities  of  the  tongue  are 
little  tongues ;  those  of  the  stomach,  little  stomachs  ;  those 
of  the  heart  are  little  hearts.  This  fruitful  idea  furnishes,  a 
key  to  every  secret.  What  was  too  small  for  the  eye  to  de 
tect  was  read  by  the  abrogates;  what  was  too  larg»-.  by  the, 
units.  There  is  no  end  to  his  application  of  the  thought. 
"Hunger  is  an  aggregate  °f  very  many  little  huiiLr<  ' 
losses  of  blood  by  the  little  veins  all  over  the  body."  It  is  a 
key  to  his  theology  also.  "Man  is  a  kind  of  very  minute 
heaven,  corresponding  to  the  world  of  spirits  and  to  heaven. 


62  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

Every  particular  idea  of  man,  and  every  affection,  yea,  every 
smallest  part  of  his  affection,  is  an  image  and  effigy  of  him. 
A  spirit  may  be  known  from  only  a  single  thought.  God  is 
the  grand  man." 

The  hardihood  and  thoroughness  of  his  study  of  nature  re 
quired  a  theory  of  forms,  also.  "  Forms  ascend  in  order  from 
the  lowest  to  the  highest.  The  lowest  form  is  angular,  or  the 
terrestrial  and  corporeal.  The  second  and  next  higher  form  is 
the  circular,  which  is  also  called  the  perpetual-angular,  be 
cause  the  circumference  of  a  circle  is  a  perpetual  angle.  The 
form  above  this  is  the  spiral,  parent  and  measure  of  circular 
forms  ;  its  diameters  are  not  rectilinear,  but  variously  circular, 
and  have  a  spherical  surface  for  centre  ;  therefore  it  is  called 
the  perpetual-circular.  The  form  above  this  is  the  vortical,  or 
perpetual-spiral  :  next,  the  perpetual-vortical,  or  celestial : 
last,  the  perpetual-celestial,  or  spiritual." 

Was  it  strange  that  a  genius  so  bold  should  take  the  last 
step,  also,  —  conceive  that  he  might  attain  the  science  of  all 
sciences,  to  unlock  the  meaning  of  the  world?  In  the  first 
volume  of  the  "Animal  Kingdom,"  he  broaches  the  subject, 
in  a  remarkable  note  :  — 

"  In  our  doctrine  of  Representations  and  Correspondences, 
we  shall  treat  of  both  these  symbolical  and  typical  resem 
blances,  and  of  the  astonishing  things  which  occur,  I  will  not 
say,  in  the  living  body  only,  but  throughout  nature,  and  which 
correspond  so  entirely  to  supreme  and  spiritual  things,  that 
one  would  swear  that  the  physical  world  was  purely  symbolical 
of  the  spiritual  world ;  insomuch,  that  if  we  choose  to  express 
any  natural  truth  in  physical  and  definite  vocal  terms,  and  to 
convert  these  terms  only  into  the  corresponding  and  spiritual 
terms,  we  shall  by  this  means  elicit  a  spiritual  truth,  or 
theological  dogma,  in  place  of  the  physical  truth  or  precept  : 
although  no  mortal  would  have  predicted  that  anything  of  the 
kind  could  possibly  arise  by  bare  literal  transposition ;  inas 
much  as  the  one  precept,  considered  separately  from  the  other, 
appears  to  have  absolutely  no  relation  to  it.  I  intend,  here 
after,  to  communicate  a  number  of  examples  of  such  corre 
spondences,  together  with  a  vocabulary  containing  the  terms 
of  spiritual  things,  as  well  as  of  the  physical  things  for  which 
they  are  to  be  substituted.  This  symbolism  pervades  the  liv 
ing  body." 

The  fact,  thus  explicitly  stated,  is  implied  in  all  poetry,  in 
allegory,  in  fable,  in  the  use  of  emblems,  and  in  the  structure 


SWEDENBORG  ;    OR,   THE   MYSTIC.  63 

of  language.  Plato  knew  of  it,  as  is  evident  from  his  twice 
bisected  line,  in  the  sixth  book  of  the  Republic.  Lord  l.aemi 
had  found  that  truth  and  nature  differed  only  us  seal  and  print ; 
and  he  instanced  some  physical  propositions,  with  their  trans 
lation  into  a  moral  or  political  sense.  Behmen,  and  all  mys 
tics,  imply  this  law,  in  their  dark  riddle-writing.  The  poets, 
in  as  far  as  they  are  poets,  use  it ;  but  it  is  known  to  them 
only,  as  the  magnet  was  known  for  ages,  as  a  toy.  Sweden- 
borg  first  put  the  fact  into  a  detached  and  scientific  statement, 
because  it  was  habitually  present  to  him,  and  never  not  seen. 
It  was  involved,  as  we  explained  already,  in  the  doctrine  of 
identity  and  iteration,  because  the  mental  series  exactly  tallies 
with  the  material  series.  It  required  an  insight  that  could 
rank  things  in  order  and  series  ;  or,  rather,  it  required  such 
Tightness  of  position,  that  the  poles  of  the  eye  should  coincide 
with  the  axis  of  the  world.  The  earth  had  fed  its  mankind 
through  five  or  six  millenniums,  and  they  had  sciences,  religions, 
philosophies  ;  and  yet  had  failed  to  see  the  correspondence  of 
meaning  between  every  part  and  every  other  part.  And,  down 
to  this  hour,  literature  has  no  book  in  which  the  symbolism  of 
things  is  scientifically  opened.  One  would  say,  that,  as  soon 
as  men  had  the  first  hint  that  every  sensible  object,  —  animal, 
rock,  river,  air,  —  nay,  space  and  time,  subsists  not  for  itself, 
nor  finally  to  a  material  end,  but  as  a  picture-language  to  tell 
another  story  of  beings  and  duties,  other  science  would  be  put 
by,  and  a  science  of  such  grand  presage  would  absorb  all  facul 
ties  :  that  each  man  would  ask  of  all  objects,  what  they  mean  : 
Why  does  the  horizon  hold  me  fast,  with  my  joy  and  grief,  in 
this  centre]  Why  hear  I  the  same  sense  from  countless  dif 
fering  voices,  and  read  one  never  quite  expressed  fact  in  endless 
picture-language  ]  Yet,  whether  it  be,  that  these  things  will 
not  be  intellectually  learned,  or,  that  many  centuries  must 
elaborate  and  compose  so  rare  and  opulent  a  soul,  —  there  is 
no  comet,  rock-stratum,  fossil,  fish,  quadruped,  spider,  or  fungus, 
that,  for  itself,  does  not  interest  more  scholars  and  classifiers, 
than  the  meaning  and  upshot  of  the  frame  of  things. 

But  Swedcnhorg  was  not  content  with  the  culinary  use  of 
the  world.  In  his  fifty-fourth  year,  these  thoughts  held  him 
fast,  and  his  profound  mind  admitted  the  perilous  opinion,  too 
frequent  in  religious  history,  that  he  was  an  abnormal  person, 
to  whom  was  granted  the  privilege  of  conversing  with  angels 
and  spirits;  and  this  ecstasy  connected  itself  with  just  this 
office  of  explaining  the  moral  import  of  the  sensible  world. 


64  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

To  a  right  perception,  at  once  broad  and  minute,  of  the  order 
of  nature,  he  added  the  comprehension  of  the  moral  laws  in 
their  widest  social  aspects;  but  whatever  he  saw,  through 
some  excessive  determination  to  form,  in  his  constitution,  he 
saw  not  abstractedly,  but  in  pictures,  heard  it  in  dialogues, 
constructed  it  in  events.  When  he  attempted  to  announce  the 
law  most  sanely,  he  was  forced  to  couch  it  in  parable. 

Modern  psychology  offers  no  similar  example  of  a  deranged 
balance.  The  principal  powers  continued  to  maintain  a  healthy 
action  ;  and,  to  a  reader  who  can  make  due  allowance  in  the 
report  for  the  reporter's  peculiarities,  the  results  are  still  in 
structive,  and  a  more  striking  testimony  to  the  sublime  laws 
he  announced,  than  any  that  balanced  dulness  could  afford. 
He  attempts  to  give  some  account  of  the  modus  of  the  new 
state,  affirming  that  "  his  presence  in  the  spiritual  world  is  at 
tended  with  a  certain  separation,  but  only  as  to  the  intellectual 
part  of  his  mind,  not  as  to  the  will  part " ;  and  he  affirms 
that  "  he  sees,  with  the  internal  sight,  the  things  that  are  in 
another  life,  more  clearly  than  he  sees  the  things  which  are 
here  in  the  world." 

Having  adopted  the  belief  that  certain  books  of  the  Old  and 
New  Testaments  were  exact  allegories,  or  written  in  the  angelic 
and  ecstatic  mode,  he  employed  his  remaining  years  in  extri 
cating  from  the  literal,  the  universal  sense.  He  had  borrowed 
from  Plato  the  fine  fable  of  "  a  most  ancient  people,  men  bet 
ter  than  we,  and  dwelling  nigher  to  the  gods  "  ;  and  Sweden- 
borg  added,  that  they  used  the  earth  symbolically  ;  that  these, 
when  they  saw  terrestrial  objects,  did  not  think  at  all  about 
them,  but  only  about  those  which  they  signified.  The  corre 
spondence  between  thoughts  and  things  henceforward  occupied 
him.  "  The  very  organic  form  resembles  the  end  inscribed  on 
it."  A  man  is  in  general,  and  in  particular,  an  organized  jus 
tice  or  injustice,  selfishness  or  gratitude.  And  the  cause  of 
this  harmony  he  assigned  in  the  Arcana  :  "  The  reason  why  all 
and  single  things,  in  the  heavens  and  on  earth,  are  representa 
tive,  is  because  they  exist  from  an  influx  of  the  Lord,  through 
heaven."  This  design  of  exhibiting  such  correspondences, 
which,  if  adequately  executed,  would  be  the  poem  of  the  world, 
in  which  all  history  and  science  would  play  an  essential  part, 
was  narrowed  and  defeated  by  the  exclusively  theologic  direc 
tion  which  his  inquiries  took.  His  perception  of  nature  is  not 
human  and  universal,  but  is  mystical  and  Hebraic.  He  fastens 
each  natural  object  to  a  theologic  notion  ;  —  a  horse  signifies 


SWEDEXBORG  ;    Oil,    THE    MYSTIC.  G5 

carnal  understanding;  a  tree,  perception  ;  the  moon,  faith;  a 
cat  means  this  ;  an  ostrich,  that  ;  an  art  ichoke,  this  other  ;  and 
poorlv  tethers  every  symbol  to  a  several  errlesiast  ie 
The  .slippery  Proteus  is  not  so  easily  caught.  In  nature,  each 
individual  symbol  plays  innumerable  pans,  as  each  partiele  of 
matter  circulates  in  turn  through  every  system.  The  central 
identity  enables  any  one  symbol  to  express  successively  all  the 
qualities  and  shades  of  real  being.  In  the  transmission  of  the 

nly  waters,  every  hose  fits  every  hydrant.  Nature  avenges 
herself  speedily  on  the  hard  pedantry  that  would  chain  her 
waves.  She  is  no  literalist.  Everything  must  be  taken 
genially,  anil  we  must  be  at  the  top  of  our  condition,  to  under 
stand  anything  rightly. 

His  theological  bias  thus  fatally  narrowed  his  interpretation 
of  nature,  and  the  dictionary  of  symbols  is  yet  to  be  written. 
But  the  interpreter,  whom  mankind  must  still  expect,  will 
find  no  predecessor  who  has  approached  so  near  to  the  true 
problem. 

S \\edenborg  styles  himself,  in  the  title-page  of  his  books, 

.ant  of  the   Lord  Jesus  Christ";  and  by  force  of  intel- 

.nd  in  etl*  ct,  he  is  the  last  Father  in  the  Clu.rch,  and  is 
not  likely  to  have  a  successor.  No  wonder  that  his  depth  of 
ethical  wisdom  should  give  him  influence  as  a  teacher.  To 
the  withered  traditional  church  yielding  dry  catechisms,  he 
l-.-t  in  nature  again,  and  the  worshipper,  escaping  ir«-m  the 
of  verbs  and  texts,  is  surprised  to  find  himself  a  party 
to  the  whole  of  his  religion  :  his  religion  thinks  for  him,  and 
is  of  universal  application:  he  turns  it  on  every  side  ;  it  tits 
every  part  of  life,  interprets  and  dignifies  every  circumstance. 

d  of  a  religion  which  visited  him  diplomatically  thi 
four  times, — when  he  was  born,  when  he  married,  when  he 
fell  sick,  and  when  he  died,  and  for  the  rest  never  interfered 
with  him, — here  was  a  teaching  which  accompanied  him  all 
dav,  accompanied  him  even  into  sleep  and  dreams  ;  into  his 
thinking,  and  showed  him  through  what  a  long  ancestry  his 
thoughts  descend  ;  into  society,  and  showed  by  what  allinities 
he  was  girt  to  his  equals  and  his  counterparts  ;  into  natural 

9,  and  showed  their  origin  and  meaning,  what  are  friend 
ly  and  what  are  hurtful  ;  and  opened  the  future  world  by  in- 

MLT    the    continuity   of    the    same    laws.        His    disciples 
that  their  intellect  is  invigorated  by  the  study  of  his 
pooka. 

There  is  no  such   problem  for  criticism   as   his  theologicaj 


66  REPRESENTATIVE    MEN. 

writings,  their  merits  are  so  commanding  ;  yet  such  grave  de 
ductions  must  be  made.  Their  immense  and  sandy  ditiuseness 
is  like  the  prairie,  or  the  desert,  and  their  incongruities  are  like 
the  last  deliration.  He  is  supcrflously  explanatory,  and  his 
feeling  of  the  ignorance  of  men,  strangely  exaggerated.  Men 
take  truths  of  this  nature  very  fast.  Yet  he  abounds  in  as 
sertions  :  he  is  a  rich  discoverer,  and  of  things  which  most 
import  us  to  know.  His  thought  dwells  in  essential  resem 
blances,  like  the  resemblance  of  a  house  to  the  man  who  built  it. 
He  saw  things  in  their  law,  in  likeness  of  function,  not  of 
structure.  There  is  an  invariable  method  and  order  in  his 
delivery  of  his  truth,  the  habitual  proceeding  of  the  mind 
from  inmost  to  outmost.  What  earnestness  and  weightiness, 
—  his  eye  never  roving,  without  one  swell  of  vanity,  or 
one  look  to  self,  in  any  common  form  of  literary  pride  !  a 
theoretic  or  speculative  man,  but  whom  no  practical  man  in 
the  universe  could  affect  to  scorn.  Plato  is  a  gownsman  :  his 
garment,  though  of  purple,  and  almost  sky-woven,  is  an  aca 
demic  robe,  and  hinders  action  with  its  voluminous  folds. 
But  this  mystic  is  awful  to  Caesar.  Lycurgus  himself  would 
bow. 

The  moral  insight  of  Swedenborg,  the  correction  of  popular 
errors,  the  announcement  of  ethical  laws,  take  him  out  of 
comparison  with  any  other  modern  writer,  and  entitle  him  to 
a  place,  vacant  for  some  ages,  among  the  lawgivers  of  man 
kind.  That  slow  but  commanding  influence  which  he  has 
acquired,  like  that  of  other  religious  geniuses,  must  be  exces 
sive  also,  and  have  its  tides,  before  it  subsides  into  a  permanent 
amount.  Of  course,  what  is  real  and  universal  cannot  be  con 
fined  to  the  circle  of  those  who  sympathize  strictly  with  his 
genius,  but  will  pass  forth  into  the  common  stock  of  wise  and 
just  thinking.  The  world  has  a  sure  chemistry,  by  which  it 
extracts  what  is  excellent  in  its  children,  and  lets  fall  the  in 
firmities  and  limitations  of  the  grandest  mind. 

That  metempsychosis  which  is  familiar  in  the  old  mythol 
ogy  of  the  Greeks,  collected  in  Ovid,  and  in  the  Indian  Trans 
migration,  and  is  there  objective,  or  really  takes  place  in  bodies 
by  alien  will,  —  in  Swedenborg's  mind,  has  a  more  philosophic 
character.  It  is  subjective,  or  depends  entirely  upon  the 
thought  of  the  person.  All  things  in  the  universe  arrange 
themselves  to  each  person  anew,  according  to  his  ruling  love. 
Man  is  such  as  his  affection  and  thought  are.  Man  is  man  by 
virtue  of  willing,  not  by  virtue  of  knowing  and  understanding. 


SWEDEXBORG  ;    OR,   THE   MYSTIC  C7 

As  he  is,  so  he  sees.     The  m.-r  -Id  are  broken 

up.      Interiors  associate  all  in  tin.-  >pintual  world.      Whatever 
the  ai,_  ed  upon  was  to  them  celestial.      Each  Satan  ap- 

lo  himself  a  man  :  to  tliM.se  as  liail  a.>  he,  ;i  comely  man; 
to  the  purified,  a  heap  of  carrion.  Nothing  can  resist  states: 
everything  gravitates  :  like  will  to  like  :  what  we  call  poetic 
justice  takes  effect  on  the  spot.  We  have  come  into  a  world 
which  is  a  living  poem.  Everything  is  as  1  am.  Bird  and 
beast  is  not  bird  and  beast,  but  emanation  and  effluvia  of  the 
minds  and  wills  of  men  there  pivsviit.  Every  one  makes  his 
own  house  and  state.  The  ghosts  are  tormented  with  th 
of  death,  and  cannot  remember  that  they  have  died.  They 
who  are  in  evil  and  falsehood  are  afraid  of  all  others.  Such  as 
have  deprived  themselves  of  charity,  wander  and  flee  :  the  so 
cieties  which  they  approach  discover  their  quality,  and  drive 
them  away.  The  covetous  seem  to  thi-m^chvs  t»  be  abiding 
in  cells  where  their  money  is  deposited,  and  these  to  be  i: 
ed  with  mice.  They  who  place  merit  in  good  works  seem  to 
themselves  to  cut  wood.  "  I  asked  such,  if  they  were  not  wea 
ried  ?  They  replied,  that  they  have  not  yet  done  work  enough 

•rit  heaven." 

He  delive?-s  golden  sayings,  which  express  with  singular 
beauty  the  ethical  laws ;  as  when  he  uttered  that  famed  sen 
tence,  that,  "  in  heaven  the  angels  are  advancing  continually 
to  the  sprinirtirae  of  their  youth,  so  that  the  oldest  angel  ap- 
j»ears  the  youngest":  "The  more  angels,  the  more  room": 
'•The  perfection  of  man  is  the  love  of  u<e  "  :  '•  Man,  in  his  per- 

rm,  is  heaven"  :  "  What  is  from  Him.  is  Him  "  :   "  Ends 
always  ascend  as  nature  "      And   the  truly  poetic  ac 

count  of  the  writinir  in   the   inmost  heaven,  which,  as   it  con- 

f  inflexions  according  to  the  form  of  heaven,  can  be  read 
without  instruction.      He  almost  justifies  his  claim   to   j 
natural  vision,  by  strange  insights  of  the  structure  of  the  hu 
man   body  and  mind.      "It  is   never  permitted   to  any  one,  in 

M.  to  stand   behind  another  and  look  at  the  back  of  his 
head  :  for  then  the  influx  which  is  from  the  Lord  is  disturbed."1 

Mirels.  from  the  sound  of  the  voice,  know  a   man's    love  ; 
from  the  articulation  of  the  sound,  his  wisdom  ;  and  from  the 

of  the  words,  his  science. 

In   the  "Cnn juiral    Love."    he  has   unfolded  the   science  of 
marriage.      Of  this  I  took,  one  would  sav,  that,  with  the  b 
elements,  it    has    failed  B&      It    came   n-'ar  to    be   the 

.Hymn  of  Love,  which    Plato   attempted   in  the  ''Banquet"; 


68  REPRESENTATIVE    MEN. 

the  love,  which,  Dante  says,  Casella  sang  among  the  angels  in 
Paradise  ;  and  which,  as  rightly  celebrated,  in  its  genesis,  frui 
tion,  and  effect,  might  well  entrance  the  souls,  as  it  would  lay 
open  the  genesis  of  all  institutions,  customs,  and  manners. 
The  book  had  been  grand,  if  the  Hebraism  had  been  omitted, 
and  the  law  stated  without  Gothicism,  as  ethics,  and  with  that 
scope  for  ascension  of  state  which  the  nature  of  things  requires. 
It  is  a  fine  platonic  development  of  the  science  of  marriage  ; 
teaching  that  sex  is  universal,  and  not  local  ;  virility  in  the 
male  qualifying  every  organ,  act,  and  thought  ;  and  the  femi 
nine  in  woman.  Therefore,  in  the  real  or  spiritual  world,  the 
nuptial  union  is  not  momentary,  but  incessant  and  total ;  and 
chastity  not  a  local,  but  a  universal  virtue  ;  unchastity  being 
discovered  as  much  in  the  trading,  or  planting,  or  speaking,  or 
philosophizing,  as  in  generation  ;  and  that,  though  the  virgins 
he  saw  in  heaven  were  beautiful,  the  wives  were  incomparably 
more  beautiful,  and  went  on  increasing  in  beauty  evermore. 

Yet   Swedenborg,  after  his  mode,   pinned   his  theory  to  a 
temporary  form.     He   exaggerates  the  circumstance  of  mar 
riage  ;  and,  though  he  finds  false  marriages  on  earth,  fancies 
a  wiser  choice  in  heaven.     But  of  progressive  souls,  all  loves 
and  friendships  are  momentary.     Do  you  love  me  ?  means,  Do 
you  see  the  same  truth  1     If  you  do,  we  are  happy  with  the 
same  happiness  :  but  presently  one  of  us  passes  into  the  per 
ception  of  new  truth  ;  we  are  divorced,  and  no  tension  in  na 
ture  can  hold  us  to  each  other.     I  know  how  delicious  is  this 
cnp   of  love,  —  I  existing  for  you,  you  existing  for  me ;  but 
it  is  a  child's  clinging  to  his  toy ;  an  attempt  to  eternize  the 
fireside   and  nuptial   chamber  ;    to  keep  the  picture-alphabet 
throuo-h  which  our  first  lessons  are  prettily  conveyed. 
Eden  of  God  is  bare  and  grand  :  like  the  out-door  landscape, 
remembered  from  the  evening  fireside,  it  seems  cold  and  deso 
late   whilst  you  cower  over  the  coals  ;  but,  once  abroad  again, 
we  pitv  those  who  can  forego  the  magnificence  of  nature   for 
candle-light  and  cards.     Perhaps  the  true  subject  of  the    Con- 
iuo-al  Love  "  is  Conversation,  whose  laws  are  profoundly  elimi 
nated.     It  is  false,  if  literally  applied  to  marriage.     For  God 
is  the   bride  or  bridegroom  of  the   soul.     Heaven  is  not  the 
pairin^  of  two,  but  the  communion  of  all  souls.     We   meet 
and  dwell  an  instant   under  the  temple  of  one   thought   and 
part   as   though  we  parted  not,    to  join  another  thought  in 
other  fellowships  of  joy.     So  far  from  there  being  anything  di 
vine  in  the  low  and  proprietary  sense  of  Do  you  love  me  f 


SWKDEXBORG;    OR,    THK    MYSTIC.  GO 

only  when  you  leave  and  lc.se  me,  by  cast  in-'  yourself  on  a  sen- 
timent  which  is  higher  than  l)oth  of  us,  that  I  draw  near,  and 
find  myself  at  your  side  ;  and  1  am  repelled,  if  you  lix  your 
eye  on  me,  and  demand  love.  In  fact,  in  the  spiritual  world, 
we  chaimv  B6X6fl  everv  moment.  You  love  the  worth  in  me; 
then  I  am  your  husband  :  hut  it  is  not  me,  hut  the  worth, 
that  tixcs  the  love  ;  and  that  worth  is  a  drop  of  the  ocean  of 
worth  that  is  beyond  me.  Meantime,  I  adore  the  greater 
worth  in  another,  and  so  become  his  wife.  He  aspires  to  a 
higher  worth  iu  another  spirit,  and  is  wife  or  receiver  of  that 
influence. 

Whether  a  self-inquisitorial  habit,  that  he  grew  into,  from 
jealousy  of  the  sins  to  which  men  of  thought  are  liable,  he 
has  acquired,  in  disentangling  and  demonstrating  that  par 
ticular  form  of  moral  disease,  an  acumen  which  no  conscience 
can  resist.  I  refer  to  his  feeling  of  the  profanation  of  think 
ing  to  what  is  good  "from  scientitics."  "To  reason  about 
faith,  is  to  doubt  and  deny."  He  was  painfully  alive  to  the 
difference  between  knowing  and  doing,  and  this  sensibility  is 
incessantly  expressed.  Philosophers  are,  therefore,  vipers, 
cockatrices,  asps,  hemorrhoids,  presters,  and  flying  serpents  ; 
literary  men  are  conjurers  and  charlatans. 

But  this  topic  su-LM'Ms  a  sad  afterthought,  that  here  wo 
find  the  seat  of  his  own  pain.  Possibly  Swedenborg  paid  the 
penalty  of  introverted  faculties.  Success,  or  a  fortunate  gen- 

•»ems  to  depend  on  a  happy  adjustment  of  heart  and 
brain  ;  on  a  due  proportion,  hard  to  hit,  of  moral  and  mental 
power,  which,  perhaps,  obeys  the  law  of  those  chemical  ratios 
which  make  a  proportion  in  volumes  necessary  to  combina 
tion,  as  when  gases  will  combine  in  certain  fixed  rates,  but 
not  at  any  rate.  It,  is  hard  to  carry  a  full  cup  :  and  this  man, 
profusely  endowed  in  heart  and  mind,  early  fell  into  dangerous 
discord  with  himself.  In  his  Animal  Kingdom,  he  surprised 
us,  by  de.-larin^  that  he  loved  analysis,  and  not  synthesis  :  and 
now,  after  his  fiftieth  year,  he  falls  into  jealousy  of  his  intel 
lect  ;  and,  though  aware  that  truth  is  not  solitary,  nor  is  good- 

-  /litary,  but  both  must  ever  mix  and  marry,  he  makes 
war  "ii  his  mind,  takes  the  part  of  the  conscience  against  it, 
and,  on  all  occasions,  traduces  and  blasphemes  it.  The  violence 
is  instantly  avenged.  Beautv  is  disgraced,  love  is  unlovelv, 
when  truth,  the  half  part  of  heaven,  is  denied,  as  much  as 
when  a  bitteniess  in  men  of  talent  loads  to  satire,  and  destroys 


70  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 

the  judgment.  He  is  wise,  but  wise  in  his  own  despite.  There 
is  an  air  of  infinite  grief,  and  the  sound  of  wailing,  all  over 
and  through  this  lurid  universe.  A  vampire  sits  in  the  seat 
of  the  prophet,  and  turns  with  gloomy  appetite  to  the  images 
of  pain.  Indeed,  a  bird  does  not  more  readily  weave  its  nest, 
or  a  mole  bore  into  the  ground,  than  this  seer  of  souls  sub- 
structs  a  new  hell  and  pit,  each  more  abominable  than  the 
last,  round  every  new  crew  of  offenders.  He  was  let  down 
through  a  column  that  seemed  of  brass,  but  it  was  formed  of 
angelic  spirits,  that  he  might  descend  safely  amongst  the  un 
happy,  and  witness  tho  vastation  of  souls ;  and  heard  there, 
for  a  long  continuance,  their  lamentations  ;  he  saw  their  tor 
mentors,  who  increase  and  strain  pangs  to  infinity  ;  he  saw 
the  hell  of  jugglers,  the  hell  of  assassins,  the  hell  of  the  las 
civious  ;  the  hell  of  robbers,  who  kill  and  boil  men ;  the  in 
fernal  tun  of  the  deceitful  ;  the  excrcmentitious  hells ;  the  hell 
of  the  revengeful,  whose  faces  resembled  a  round,  broad  cake, 
and  their  arms  rotate  like  a  wheel.  Except  Rabelais  and  Dean 
Swift,  nobody  ever  had  such  science  of  filth  and  corruption. 

These  books  should  be  used  with  caution.  It  is  dangerous 
to  sculpture  these  evanescing  images  of  thought.  True  in 
transition,  they  become  false  if  fixed.  It  requires,  for  his  just 
apprehension,  almost  a  genius  equal  to  his  own.  But  when 
his  visions  become  the  stereotyped  language  of  multitudes  of 
persons,  of  all  degrees  of  age  and  capacity,  they  are  perverted. 
The  wise  people  of  the  Greek  race  were  accustomed  to  lead 
the  most  intelligent  and  virtuous  young  men,  as  part  of  their 
education,  through  the  Eleusinian  mysteries,  wherein,  with 
much  pomp  and  graduation,  the  highest  truths  known  to 
ancient  wisdom  were  taught.  An  ardent  and  contemplative 
young  man,  at  eighteen  or  twenty  years,  might  read  once  these 
books'  of  Swedenborg,  these  mysteries  of  love  and  conscience, 
and  then  throw  them  aside  forever.  Genius  is  ever  haunted 
by  similar  dreams,  when  the  hells  and  the  heavens  are  opened 
to  it.  But  these  pictures  are  to  be  held  as  mystical,  that  is, 
as  a  quite  arbitrary  and  accidental  picture  of  the  truth,  — not 
as  the  truth.  Any  other  symbol  would  be  as  good  :  then 
this  is  safely  seen. 

Swedenborg's   system  of  the  world  wants  central  sponta 
neity  ;  it  is  dynamic,  not  vital,  and  lacks  power  to  generate 
life.     There  is"  no  individual  in  it.     The  universe  is  a  giganti 
crystal,  all  whose  atoms  and  laminae  lie  in  uninterrupted  order, 


SWKDFAT.ORG  ;    OR,   THE   MYSTIC.  71 

and  with  unbroken  unity,  hut  cold  and  still.  What  seems  an 
individual  and  a  will,  is  none.  There  is  an  immense  chain  of 
intermediation,  extending  from  centre  to  extremes,  which  be 
reaves  every  agency  of  all  freedom  and  character.  The  uni 
verse,  in  his  poem,  sailers  under  a  magnetic  sleep,  and  only 
reflects  the  mind  of  the  magneti/er.  Kvery  thought  conies 
into  each  mind  by  influence  from  a  society  of  spirits  that  sur 
round  it,  and  into  these  from  a  higher  society,  and  so  on.  All 
his  types  mean  the  same  few  things.  All  his  figures  speak 
one  speech.  All  his  interlocutors  Swedenborgize.  Be  they 
who  they  may,  to  this  complexion  must  they  come  at  last. 
This  Charon  ferries  them  all  over  in  his  lx>at ;  kings,  counsel 
lors,  cavaliers,  doctors,  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  Sir  Hans  Sloane, 
King  George  II.,  Mahomet,  or  whosoever,  and  all  gather  one 
grinmess  of  hue  and  style.  Only  when  Cicero  comes  by,  our 
gentle  seer  sticks  a  little  at  saying  he  talked  with  Cicero,  and, 
with  a  touch  of  human  relenting,  remarks,  "one  whom  it  was 
given  me  to  believe  was  Cicero  "  ;  and  when  the  soi  disant  Ro 
man  opens  his  mouth,  Rome  and  eloquence  have  ebbed  away, 
—  it  is  plain  theologic  Suedenborg,  like  the  rest.  His  heavens 
and  hells  are  dull  ;  fault  of  want  of  individualism.  The  thou 
sand-fold  relation  of  men  is  not  there.  The  interest  that  at 
taches  in  nature  to  each  man,  localise  he  is  right  by  his 
wrong,  and  wrong  by  his  right,  because  he  defies  all  dogma 
tizing  and  classification,  so  many  allowances,  and  contingencies, 
and  futurities,  are  to  be  taken  into  account,  strong  by  his  vices, 
often  paralyzed  by  his  virtues,  —  sinks  into  entire  sympathy 
with  his  society.  This  want  reacts  to  the  centre  of  the  sys 
tem.  Though  the  agency  of  "  the  Ix>rd  "  is  in  every  line  re 
ferred  to  by  name,  it  never  becomes  alive.  There  is  no  lustre 
in  that  eye  which  gazes  from  the  centre,  and  which  should 
vivify  the  immense  dependency  of  beings. 

The  vice  of  Swcdenborg's  mind  is  its  theologic  determina 
tion.  Nothing  with  him  has  the  liberality  of  universal  wis 
dom,  but  we  are  always  in  a  church.  That  Hebrew  muse, 
which  taught  the  lore  of  right  and  wrong  to  men,  had  the 
same  excess  of  influence  for  him,  it  has  had  for  the  nations. 
The  mode,  as  well  as  the  essence,  was  sacred.  Palestine  is 
ever  the  more  valuable  as  a  chapter  in  universal  history,  and 
ever  the  less  an  available  element  in  education.  The  genius 
of  Swedenborg,  largest  of  all  modern  souls  in  this  department 
of  thought,  wasted  itself  in  the  endeavor  to  reanimate  and 
conserve  what  had  already  arrived  at  its  natural  term,  and,  in 


72  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

the  great  secular  Providence,  was  retiring  from  its  prominence, 
before  western  modes  of  thought  and  expression.  Swedenborg 
and  Behmen  both  failed  by  attaching  themselves  to  the  Chris 
tian  symbol,  instead  of  to  the  moral  sentiment,  which  carries 
innumerable  Christianities,  humanities,  divinities,  in  its  bosom. 

The  excess  of  influence  shows  itself  in  the  incongruous  im 
portation  of  a  foreign  rhetoric.  '  What  have  I  to  do,'  asks  the 
impatient  reader,  *  with  jasper  and  sardonyx,  beryl  and  chalce 
dony  ;  what  with  arks  and  passovers,  ephahs  and  ephods  ;  what 
with  lepers  and  emerods  :  what  with  heave-offerings  and  un 
leavened  bread ;  chariots  of  fire,  dragons  crowned  and  horned, 
behemoth  and  unicorn  1  Good  for  Orientals,  these  are  nothing 
to  me.  The  more  learning  you  bring  to  explain  them,  the 
more  glaring  the  impertinence.  The  more  coherent  and  elab 
orate  the  system,  the  less  I  like  it.  I  say,  with  the  Spartan, 
"  Why  do  you  speak  so  much  to  the  purpose,  of  that  which  is 
nothing  to  the  purpose  1 "  My  learning  is  such  as  God  gave 
me  in  my  birth  and  habit,  in  the  delight  and  study  of  my 
eyes,  and  not  of  another  man's.  Of  all  absurdities,  this  of 
some  foreigner,  proposing  to  take  away  my  rhetoric,  and  sub 
stitute  his  own,  and  amuse  me  with  pelican  and  stork,  instead 
of  thrush  and  robin  ;  palm  trees  and  shittim-wood,  instead  of 
sassafras  and  hickory,  —  seems  the  most  needless.' 

Locke  said,  "God,  when  he  makes  the  prophet,  does  not  un 
make  the  man."  Swedenborg's  history  points  the  remark. 
The  parish  disputes,  in  the  Swedish  church,  between  the 
friends  and  foes  of  Luther  and  Melancthon,  concerning  "faith 
alone,"  and  "  works  alone,"  intrude  themselves  into  his  specu 
lations  upon  the  economy  of  the  universe,  and  of  the  celestial 
societies.  The  Lutheran  bishop's  son,  for  whom  the  heavens 
are  opened,  so  that  he  sees  with  eyes,  and  in  the  richest  sym 
bolic  forms,  the  awful  truth  of  things,  and  utters  again,  in  his 
books,  as  under  a  heavenly  mandate,  the  indisputable  secrets  of 
moral  nature,  —  with  all  these  grandeurs  resting  upon  him,  re 
mains  the  Lutheran  bishop's  son ;  his  judgments  are  those  of 
a  Swedish  polemic,  and  his  vast  enlargements  are  purchased  by 
adamantine  limitations.  He  carries  his  controversial  memory 
with  him  in  his  visits  to  the  souls.  He  is  like  Michel  Angelo, 
who,  in  his  frescos,  put  the  cardinal  who  had  offended  him 
to  roast  under  a  mountain  of  devils ;  or,  like  Dante,  who 
avenged,  in  vindictive  melodies,  all  his  private  wrongs ;  or, 
perhaps  still  more  like  Montaigne's  parish  priest,  who,  if  a 
hail-storm  passes  over  the  village,  thinks  the  day  of  doom  is 


SWEDEXBORG;    OR,   THE   MYSTIC.  73 

come,  and  the  cannibals  already  have  got  the  pip.  Sweden 
borg  confounds  us  not  less  with  the  pains  of  Melancthon,  and 
Luther,  and  \Voliius,  and  his  own  books,  which  he  advertises 
among  the  angels. 

I'nder  the  same  thcologic  cramp,  many  of  his  dogmas  are> 
bound.  His  cardinal  position  in  morals  is,  that  evils  should 
be  shunned  as  sins.  But  he  does  not  know  what  evil  is,  or 
what  good  is,  who  thinks  any  ground  remains  to  be  occupied, 
after  saying  that  evil  is  to  be  shunned  as  evil.  I  doubt  not 
he  was  led  by  the  desire  to  insert  the  element  of  personality 
of  Deity.  But  nothing  is  added.  One  man,  you  say,  dreads 
erysipelas,  —  show  him  that  this  dread  is  evil  :  or,  one  dreads 
hell,  —  show  him  that  dread  is  evil.  He  who  loves  good 
ness,  harbors  angels,  reveres  reverence,  and  lives  with  God. 
The  less  we  have  to  do  with  our  sins,  the  better.  No  man  can 
aftbrd  to  waste  his  moments  in  compunctions.  "  That  is  active 
duty,"  say  the  Hindoos,  "which  is  not  for  our  bondage;  that 
is  knowledge,  which  is  for  our  liberation  :  all  other  duty  is 
good  only  unto  weariness." 

Another  dogma,  growing  out  of  this  pernicious  theologic 
limitation,  is  this  Inferno.  Swedenborg  has  devils.  Evil,  ac 
cording  to  old  philosophers,  is  good  in  the  making.  That  pure 
malignity  can  exist,  is  the  extreme  proposition  of  unbelief.  It 
is  not  to  be  entertained  by  a  rational  agent  ;  it  is  atheism  ;  it 
is  the  last  profanation.  Euripides  rightly  said,  — 

"  Good?iess  and  bcin.sr  in  the  pod*  are  one: 
He  who  imputes  ill  to  them  inakcs  tlu-ni  none." 

To  what  a  painful  perversion  had  Gothic  theology  arrived, 
that  Swedenborg  admitted  no  conversion  for  evil  spirits  !  But 
the  divine  effort  is  never  relaxed  ;  the  carrion  in  the  sun  will 
convert  itself  to  irrass  and  flowers  ;  and  man,  though  in  broth 
els,  or  jails,  or  on  gibbets,  is  on  his  way  to  all  that  is  good  and 
true.  Burns,  with  the  wild  humor  of  his  apostrophe  to  "  poor 
old  Xickie  Ben," 

"  0  wad  ye  tak  a  thought,  and  mend  !  " 

has  the  advantage  of  the  vindictive  theologian.  Everything 
is  superficial,  and  perishes,  but  love  and  truth  only.  The 
largest  is  always  the  truest  sentiment,  and  we  t'c<  1  the  more 
generous  spirit  of  the  Indian  Vishnu,  —  "I  am  the  same  to 
all  mankind.  There  is  not  one  who  is  worth v  of  mv  love  or 
hatred.  They  who  serve  UK-  with  adoration,  —  1  am  in  them, 
and  they  in  me.  If  one  whose  ways  are  altogether  evil,  serve 

VOL.  II.  4 


74  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

me  alone,  he  is  as  respectable  as  the  just  man  ;  he  is  alto 
gether  well  employed ;  he  soon  becometh  of  a  virtuous  spirit, 
and  obtaineth  eternal  happiness." 

For  the  anomalous  pretension  of  Revelations  of  the  other 
world,  —  only  his  probity  and  genius  can  entitle  it  to  any  se 
rious  regard.     His  revelations  destroy  their  credit  by  running 
into  detail.     If  a  man  say,  that  the  Holy  Ghost  has  informed 
him  that  the  Last  Judgment  (or  the  last  of  the  judgments) 
took  place  in  1757;  or,  that  the  Dutch,  in  the  other  world, 
live  in  a  heaven  by  themselves,  and  the  English,  in  a  heaven 
by  themselves  ;  I  reply,  that  the  Spirit  which  is  holy,  is  re 
served,  taciturn,  and    deals   in  laws.     The  rumors  of  ghosts 
and  hobgoblins  gossip  and  tell  fortunes.     The  teachings  of  the 
High  Spirit  are  abstemious,  and,  in  regard  to  particulars,  nega 
tive.     Socrates'  Genius  did  not  advise  him  to  act  or  to  find, 
but  if  he  purposed  to  do  somewhat  not  advantageous,  it  dis 
suaded  him.      "  What  God  is,"  he  said,  "  I  know  not  ;  what  he 
is  not,  I  know."     The  Hindoos  have  denominated  the  Supreme 
Being,  the  "  Internal  Check."     The  illuminated  Quakers  ex 
plained  their  Light,  not  as  somewhat  which  leads  to  any  action, 
but  it  appears  as  an  obstruction  to  anything  unfit.     But  the 
right  examples  are  private  experiences,  which  are  absolutely  at 
one  on  this  point.      Strictly  speaking,  Swcdenborg's  revelation 
is  a  confounding  of  planes,  —  a  capital  offence  in  so  learned  a 
categorist.      This  is  to  carry  the  law  of  surface  into  the  plane 
of  substance,  to  carry  individualism  and  its  fopperies  into  the 
realm  of  essences  and  generals,  which  is  dislocation  and  chaos. 
The  secret  of  heaven  is  kept  from  age  to  age.     No  impru 
dent,  no  sociable  angel,  ever  dropped  an  early  syllable  to  answer 
the  longings  of  saints,  the  fears  of  mortals.     AVe  should  have 
listened  on   our  knees  to  any  favorite,  who,  by  stricter  obedi 
ence,  had  brought  his  thoughts  into  parallelism  with  the  celes 
tial  currents,  and  could  hint  to  human  ears  the  scenery  and 
circumstance  of  the  newly  parted  soul.     But  it  is  certain  that 
it  must  tally  with  what  is  best  in  nature.     It  must  not  be  in 
ferior  in  tone  to  the  already  known  works  of  the  artist  who 
sculptures  the  globes  of  the  firmament,  and  writes  the  moral 
law.     It  must  be  fresher  than  rainbows,  stabler  than  mountains, 
agreeing  with  flowers,  with  tides,  and  the  rising  and  setting  of 
autumnal  stars.     Melodious  poets  shall  be  hoarse  as  street  bal 
lads,  when  once  the  penetrating  key-note  of  nature  and  spirit 
is  sounded,  — the  earth-beat,  sea-beat,  heart-beat,  which  makes 
the  tune  to  which  the  sun  rolls,  and  the  globule  of  blood,  and 
the  sap  of  trees. 


SWEDKXBORG;    OK,   THE   MYSTIC.  7"i 

In  t.liis  mood,  we  hear  the  minor  that  the  seer  has  arrived, 
and  his  tale  is  told.  lint  there  is  no  beauty,  no  heaven  :  for 
anuvls.  Ljohlins.  The  sad  mnse  loves  nLlit  and  death,  and  the 
pit.  His  Inferno  is  mesmeric.  His  spiritual  world  bears  the 
same  relation  to  the  iri-nemsities  and  joys  of  truth,  of  which 
human  souls  have  alre-ady  made  us  cogni/ant,  as  a  man's  bad 
dreams  bear  to  his  ideal  life.  It  is  indeed  very  like,  in  its  end 
less  power  of  Inrid  pictures,  to  the  phenomena  of  dreaming; 
whieh  niirhtly  turns  many  an  honest  gentleman,  benevolent, 
hut  dyspeptic,  into  a  wretch,  skulking  like  a  dog  about  the 
outer  yards  and  kennels  of  creation.  When  he  mounts  into 
the  heaven,  I  do  not  hear  its  language.  A  man  should  not 
tell  me  that  he  has  walked  among  the  angels  ;  his  proof  is, 
that  his  eloquence  makes  me  one.  Shall  the  archangels  be 
less  majestic  and  sweet  than  the  ti-ures  that  have  actually 
walked  the  earth  ?  These  angels  that  Swcdenborg  {taints  give 
us  no  very  high  idea  of  their  discipline  and  culture  :  they  are 
all  country  parsons  :  their  heaven  is  si  fete  clunn]H'tr<',  an  evan 
gelical  picnic,  or  French  distribution  of  prizes  to  virtuous 
peasants.  Strange,  scholastic,  didactic,  passionless,  bloodless 
man,  who  denotes  classes  of  souls  as  a  botanist  disposes  of  a 
carex,  and  visits  doleful  hells  as  a.  stratum  of  chalk  or  horn 
blende  !  He  has  no  sympathy.  He  goes  up  and  down  the 
world  of  men,  a  modern  Rhadamanthus  in  gold-headed  cane 
and  peruke,  ami  with  nonchalance,  and  the  air  of  a  referee, 
distributes  souls.  The  warm,  many-weathered,  passionate- 
peopled  world  is  to  him  a  -Tanimar  of  hieroglyphs,  or  an  em 
blematic  freemason's  procession.  How  different  is  Jacob  Beh- 
nieii  !  /«'  is  tremulous  with  emotion,  and  listens  awe  struck, 
with  the  gentlest  humanity,  to  the  Teacher  whose  lessons  he 
couvevs;  and  when  he  asserts  that;  "in  some  sort,  love  is 
greater  than  Clod,"  his  heart  beats  so  high  that  the  thumping 
against  his  leathern  coat  is  audible  across  the  centuries.  'T  is 
a  great  difference.  Px-hmen  is  healthily  and  beautifully  wise, 
notwithstanding  the  mystical  narrowness  and  incommunieable- 
Swedenhorg  is  disagreeably  wise,  and,  with  all  his  ac 
cumulated  gifts,  paraly/es  and  repels. 

It  is  the  be<t  sign  of  u  Lfreat  nature,  that  it  opens  a  fore 
ground,  and,  like  the  breath  of  mornim:  landscapes,  invites  us 
onward.  Swedenboig  is  retrospective,  nor  can  we  divest  him 
of  his  mattock  and  shroud.  Sonic  minds  are  forever  restrained 
from  descending  into  nature:  others  are  forever  prevented 
from  ascending  out  of  it.  With  a  force  of  many  men,  he 


76  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

could  never  break  the  umbilical  cord  which  held  him  to  na 
ture,  and  he  did  not  rise  to  the  platform  of  pure  genius. 

It  is  remarkable  that  this  man,  who,  by  his  perception  of 
symbols,  saw  the  poetic  construction  of  things,  and  the  pri 
mary  relation  of  mind  to  matter,  remained  entirely  devoid  of 
the  whole  apparatus  of  poetic  expression,  which  that  perception 
creates.  He  knew  the  grammar  and  rudiments  of  the  Mother- 
Tongue, —  how  could  he  not  read  off  one  strain  into  music1? 
Was  he  like  Saadi,  who,  in  his  vision,  designed  to  fill  his  lap 
with  the  celestial  flowers,  as  presents  for  his  friends ;  but  the 
fragrance  of  the  roses  so  intoxicated  him,  that  the  skirt  dropped 
from  his  hands  1  or,  is  reporting  a  breach  of  the  manners  of 
that  heavenly  society  1  or,  was  it  that  he  saw  the  vision  intel 
lectually,  and  hence  that  chiding  of  the  intellectual  that  per 
vades  his  books  ?  Be  it  as  it  may,  his  books  have  no  melody, 
no  emotion,  no  humor,  no  relief  to  the  dead  prosaic  level.  In 
his  profuse  and  accurate  imagery  is  no  pleasure,  for  there  is 
no  beauty.  We  wander  forlorn  in  a  lack-lustre  landscape.  No 
bird  ever  sang  in  all  these  gardens  of  the  dead.  The  entire 
want  of  poetry  in  so  transcendent  a  mind  betokens  the  disease, 
and,  like  a  hoarse  voice  in  a  beautiful  person,  is  a  kind  of 
warning.  I  think,  sometimes,  he  will  not  be  read  longer.  His 
great  name  will  turn  a  sentence.  His  books  have  become  a 
monument.  His  laurel  so  largely  mixed  with  cypress,  a  char- 
nel-breath  so  mingles  with  the  temple  incense,  that  boys  and 
maids  will  shun  the  spot. 

Yet,  in  this  immolation  of  genius  and  fame  at  the  shrine  of 
conscience,  is  a  merit  sublime  beyond  praise.  He  lived  to 
purpose  :  he  gave  a  verdict.  He  elected  goodness  as  the  clew 
to  which  the  soul  must  cling  in  all  this  labyrinth  of  nature. 
Many  opinions  conflict  as  to  the  true  centre.  In  the  shipwreck, 
some  cling  to  running  rigging,  some  to  cask  and  barrel,  some 
to  spars,  some  to  mast ;  the  pilot  chooses  with  science,  —  I 
plant  myself  here  ;  all  will  sink  before  this ;  "  he  comes  to 
land  who  sails  with  me."  Do  not  rely  on  heavenly  favor,  or  on 
compassion  to  folly,  or  on  prudence,  on  common  sense,  the  old 
usage  and  main  chance  of  men  :  nothing  can  keep  you,  —  not 
fate,  nor  health,  nor  admirable  intellect ;  none  can  keep  you, 
but  rectitude  only,  rectitude  for  ever  and  ever  !  —  and,  with 
a  tenacity  that  never  swerved  in  all  his  studies,  inventions, 
dreams,  he  adheres  to  this  brave  choice.  I  think  of  him  as 
of  some  transmigrating  votary  of  Indian  legend,  who  says, 
'  Though  I  be  dog,  or  jackal,  or  pismire,  in  the  last  rudiments 


SWEDENBORG  ;    OR,   THE   MYSTIC.  77 

of  nature,  under  what  integument  or  ferocity,  I  cleave  to  riulit, 
as  the  sure  ladder  that  leads  up  to  man  and  to  (Joil." 

Swedenborg  lias  rendered  a  double  service  to  mankind, 
which  is  now  only  beginning  to  be  known.  liy  the  science  of 
experiment  and  use,  lie  made  his  first  steps  :  he  observed  and 
published  the  laws  of  nature  :  and.  ascending  by  just  degrees, 
from  events  to  their  summits  and  causes,  he  was  fired  with 
pirtv  at  the-  harmonies  he  felt,  and  abandoned  himself  to  his 
joy  and  worship.  This  was  his  first  service.  If  the  glory  was 
too  bright  for  his  eyes  to  bear,  if  he  staggered  under  the 
trance  of  delight,  the  more  excellent  is  the  spectacle  he  saw, 
the  realities  of  being  which  beam  and  blaze  through  him,  and 
which  no  infirmities  of  the  prophet  are  suffered  to  obscure  ; 
and  he  renders  a  second  passive  service  to  men,  not  less  than 
the  first,  —  perhaps,  in  the  great  circle  of  being,  and  in  the 
retributions  of  spiritual  nature,  not  less  glorious  or  less  beauti 
ful  to  himself. 


IV. 

MONTAIGNE;   OR   THE  SCEPTIC. 


UNIVERSITY 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,  THE   SCEPTIC. 


EVKHY  fact  is  related  on  one  side  to  sensation,  and,  on 
the  other,  to  morals.  The  game  of  thought  is,  on  tha 
appearance  of  one  of  these  two  sides,  to  find  the  other;  given 
the  upper,  to  find  the  under  side.  Nothing  so  thin,  but  has 
these  two  lares  ;  and,  when  the  observer  has  seen  the  obverse, 
he  turns  it  over  to  see  the  reverse.  Life  is  a  pitching  of  this 
penny,  —  heads  <>r  tails.  We  never  tire  of  this  game,  because 
there  is  still  a  slight  shudder  of  astonishment  at  the  exhibition 
of  the  other  face,  at  the  contrast  of  the  two  faces.  A  man  is 
flushed  with  success,  and  bethinks  himself  what  this  good  luck 
signifies.  He  drives  his  bargain  in  the  street  ;  but  it  occurs, 
that  he  also  is  bought  and  sold.  He  sees  the  beauty  of  a  hu 
man  face,  and  searches  the  cause  of  that  beauty,  which  must 
be  more  beautiful.  He  builds  his  fortunes,  maintains  the  laws, 
cherishes  his  children  ;  but  he  asks  himself,  why  ?  and  whereto  1 
This  head  and  this  tail  are  called,  in  the  language  of  philoso 
phy.  Infinite  and  Finite;  Relative  and  Absolute;  Apparent 
and  Real  ;  and  many  fine  names  beside. 

K.ich  man  is  born  with  a  predisposition  to  one  or  the  other 
of  these  sides  of  nature  ;  and  it  will  easily  happen  that  men 
will  l)e  found  devoted  to  one  or  the  other.  One  class  has  the 
perception  of  difference,  and  is  conversant  with  facts  and  sur 
faces  :  cities  and  persons  ;  and  the  bringing  certain  things  to 
:  — the  men  of  talent  and  action.  Another  class  have 
the  perception  of  identity,  and  are  men  of  faith  and  philoso 
phy,  men  of  genius. 

Each  of  these  riders  drives  too  fast.  Plotinus  believes  only 
in  philosophers  ;  Fenelon,  in  saints  ;  Pindar  and  Bvron,  in 
poets.  Read  the  haughty  language  in  which  Plato  and  the 
Platonists  speak  of  all  men  who  are  not  devoted  t<»  their  own 
shining  abstractions  :  other  men  are  rats  and  mice.  The  lit- 

4*  F 


82  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

erary  class  is  usually  proud  and  exclusive.  The  correspondence 
of  Pope  and  Swift  describes  mankind  around  them  as  mon 
sters  ;  and  that  of  Goethe  and  Schiller,  in  our  own  time,  is 
scarcely  more  kind. 

It  is  easy  to  see  how  this  arrogance  comes.  The  genius  is 
a  genius  by  the  first  look  he  casts  on  any  object.  Is  his  eye 
creative  'I  Does  he  not  rest  in  angles  and  colors,  but  beholds 
the  design,  —  he  will  presently  undervalue  the  actual  object. 
In  powerful  moments,  his  thought  has  dissolved  the  works  of 
art  and  nature  into  their  causes,  so  that  the  works  appear 
heavy  and  faulty.  He  has  a  conception  of  beauty  which  the 
sculptor  cannot  embody.  Picture,  statue,  temple,  railroad, 
steam-engine,  existed  first  in  an  artist's  mind,  without  flaw, 
mistake,  or  friction,  which  impair  the  executed  models.  So 
did  the  church,  the  state,  college,  court,  social  circle,  and  all 
the  institutions.  It  is  not  strange  that  these  men,  remember 
ing  what  they  have  seen  and  hoped  of  ideas,  should  affirm 
disdainfully  the  superiority  of  ideas.  Having  at  some  time 
seen  that  the  happy  soul  will  cany  all  the  arts  in  power,  they 
say,  Why  cumber  ourselves  with  superfluous  realizations  1  and, 
like  dreaming  beggars,  they  assume  to  speak  and  act  as  if 
these  values  were  already  substantiated. 

On  the  other  part,  the  men  of  toil  and  trade  and  luxury,  — 
the  animal  world,  including  the  animal  in  the  philosopher  and 
poet  also,  —  and  the  practical  world,  including  the  painful 
drudgeries  which  are  never  excused  to  philosopher  or  poet  any 
more  than  to  the  rest,  —  weigh  heavily  on  the  other  side.  The 
trade  in  our  streets  believes  in  no  metaphysical  causes,  thinks 
nothing  of  the  force  which  necessitated  traders  and  a  trading 
planet  to  exist ;  no,  but  sticks  to  cotton,  sugar,  wool,  and  salt. 
The  ward  meetings,  on  election  days,  are  not  softened  by  any 
misgiving  of  the  value  of  these  ballotings.  Hot  life  is  stream 
ing  in  a  single  direction.  To  the  men  of  this  world,  to  the 
animal  strength  and  spirits,  to  the  men  of  practical  power, 
while  immersed  in  it,,  the  man  of  ideas  appears  out  of  his 
reason.  They  alone  have  reason. 

Things  always  bring  their  own  philosophy  with  them,  that 
is,  prudence.  "No  man  acquires  property  without  acquiring 
with  it  a  little  arithmetic,  also.  In  England,  the  richest  coun- 
trv  that  ever  existed,  property  stands  for  more,  compared  with 
personal  ability,  than  in  any  other.  After  dinner,  a  man  be 
lieves  less,  denies  more  :  verities  have  lost  some  charm.  After 
dinner,  arithmetic  is  the  only  science  :  ideas  are  disturbing. 


MOXTAHINT.  :    OR,   THE   SCEPTIC.  83 

incendiary,  follies  of  young  men,  repudiated  by  the  solid  por 
tion  <,f  MM-ii'ty  :  and  ;i  man  comes  to  lie  valued  !»y  his  athletic 
and  animal  qualit ies.  Spruce  relates,  that  Mr.  1'ope  was  with 
Sir  (Jodfrey  Kneller,  one  day,  when  his  •  nephew,  a  (Jiiiin-.-i 
trader,  eame  in.  M  Nephew,"  said  Sir  Godfrey ,  "you  have  the 
honor  of  seeing  the  two  greatest  men  in  the  world."  "  I  don't 
know  how  -Teat  men  yon  may  lie."  said  the  (Jtiinea  man,  "  hut 
I  don't  like  your  looks.  1  have  often  bought  a  much  better 
than  both  of  you,  all  muscles  and  bones,  for  ten  guineas."  Thus, 
the  men  of  the  senses  revenue  themselves  on  the  profc- 
and  repay  scorn  for  scorn.  The  first  had  leaped  to  conclusions 
not  yet  ripe,  ami  say  more  than  is  true;  the  others  make 
themselves  merry  with  the  philosopher,  anil  weigh  man  by  the 
pound.  They  believe  that  mustard  bites  the  tongue,  and  pep 
per  is  hot,  friction-matches  are  incendiary,  revolvers  to  be 
avoided,  and  suspenders  hold  np  pantaloons;  that  there  is 
much  sentiment  in  a  chest  of  tea  ;  and  a  man  will  be  eloquent, 
if  you  give  him  good  wine.  Are  you  tender  and  scrupulous, 
—  you  must  eat  more  mince-pie.  They  hold  that  Luther  had 
niilk  in  him  when  he  said, 

'•  \Ver  nicht  liobt  Wcin,  Weil),  und  (lesang, 
IV r  bleibt  cm  Narr  sein  Leben  lung"; 

and  when  he  advised  a  young  scholar,  perplexed  with  fore-or 
dination  and  free-will,  to  get  well  drunk.  "  The  nerves,"  savs 
t'abanis,  "  they  are  the  man/'  My  neighbor,  a  jolly  farmer, 
in  the  tavern  bar-room,  thinks  that  the  use  of  money  is  sure 
and  speedy  spending  :  "  for  his  part,"  he  says,  "  he  puts  his 
down  his  neck,  and  gets  the  good  of  it." 

The  inconvenience  of  this  way  of  thinking  is,  that  it  runs 
into  indifferentism,  and  then  into  disgust.  Life  is  eating  us 
up.  We  shall  be  fables  presently.  Keep  cool  :  it  will  IK-  all 
one  a  hundred  years  hence.  Life 's  well  enough  ;  but  we  shall 
be  glad  to  get  out  of  it,  and  they  will  all  be  glad  to  have  us. 
Why  should  we  fret  and  drudge  ?  Our  meat  will  taste  to 
morrow  as  it  did  yesterday,  and  we  may  at,  last  have  had 
enough  of  it.  "Ah,"  said  my  languid  gentleman  at  Oxford, 
"  there  's  nothing  new  or  true,  —  and  no  matter." 

W  ith  a  little  more  bitterness,  the  cynic  moans  :  our  life  is 
like  an  ass  led  to  market  by  a  bundle  of  hay  being  carried  be 
fore  him  :  he  sees  nothing  but  the  bundle  of  hay.  "  There  is 
so  much  trouble  in  coming  into  the  world,"  said  Lord  P.oling- 
.  "and  so  much  more,  as  well  as  meanness,  in  going  out 
of  it,  that  't  is  hardly  worth  while  to  be  here  at  all."  I  know 


84  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

a  philosopher  of  this  kidney,  who  was  accustomed  briefly  to 
sum  up  his  experience  of  human  nature  in  saying,  "  Mankind 
is  a  damned  rascal "  :  and  the  natural  corollary  is  pretty  sure 
to  follow,  —  '  The  world  lives  by  humbug,  and  so  will  I.' 

The  abstractionist  and  the  materialist  thus  mutually  exas 
perating  each  other,  and  the  scoffer  expressing  the  worst  of 
materialism,  there  arises  a  third  party  to  occupy  the  middle 
ground  between  these  two,  the  sceptic,  namely.  He  finds  both 
wrong  by  being  in  extremes.  He  labors  to  plant  his  feet,  to 
be  the  beam  of  the  balance.  He  will  not  go  beyond  his  card. 
He  sees  the  one-sidedness  of  these  men  of  the  street ;  he  will 
not  be  a  Gibeonite  ;  he  stands  for  the  intellectual  faculties,  a 
cool  head,  and  whatever  serves  to  keep  it  cool ;  no  unadvised 
industry,  no  unrewarded  self-devotion,  no  loss  of  the  brains  in 
toil.  Am  I  an  ox,  or  a  dray  1  —  You  are  both  in  extremes,  he 
says.  You  that  will  have  all  solid,  and  a  world  of  pig-lead, 
deceive  yourselves  grossly  :  you  believe  yourselves  rooted  and 
grounded  on  adamant ;  and  yet,  if  we  uncover  the  last  facts 
of  our  knowledge,  you  are  spinning  like  bubbles  in  a  river,  you 
know  not  whither  or  whence,  and  you  are  bottomed  and  capped 
and  wrapped  in  delusions. 

Neither  will  he  be  betrayed  to  a  book,  and  wrapped  in  a 
gown.  The  studious  class  are  their  own  victims  :  they  are 
thin  and  pale,  their  feet  are  cold,  their  heads  are  hot,  the 
night  is  without  sleep,  the  day  a  fear  of  interruption,  —  pallor, 
squalor,  hunger,  and  egotism.  If  you  come  near  them,  and 
see  what  conceits  they  entertain,  —  they  are  abstractionists, 
and  spend  their  days  and  nights  in  dreaming  some  dream ;  in 
expecting  the  homage  of  society  to  some  precious  scheme 
built  on  a  truth,  but  destitute  of  proportion  in  its  presentment, 
of  justness  in  its  application,  and  of  all  energy  of  will  in  the 
schemer  to  embody  and  vitalize  it. 

But  I  see  plainly,  he  says,  that  I  cannot  see.  I  know  that 
human  strength  is  not  in  extremes,  but  in  avoiding  extremes. 
I,  at  least,  will  shun  the  weakness  of  philosophizing  beyond 
my  depth.  What  is  the  use  of  pretending  to  powers  we  have 
not  1  What  is  the  use  of  pretending  to  assurances  we  have 
not,  respecting  the  other  life  1  Why  exaggerate  the  power  of 
virtue  1  Why  be  an  angel  before  your  time  1  These  strings, 
wound  up  too  high,  will  snap.  If  there  is  a  wish  for  immor 
tality,  and  no  evidence,  whv  not  say  just  that  1  If  there  are 
conflicting  evidences,  why  not  state  them1?  If  there  is  not 
ground  for  a  candid  thinker  to  make  up  his  mind,  yea  or  nay, 


MONTAIGNE  ;    OR,   THE   SCEPTIC.  8,1 

- —  why  not  suspend  the  judgment  1  I  weary  of  these  dogma- 
tizers.  I  tire  of  these  harks  of  routine,  who  deny  the  dogmas. 
I  neither  atlirm  nor  deny.  I  stand  here  to  try  the  case.  1 
urn  here  to  consider,  aKcnrdv,  to  consider  how  it  is.  I  will  try 
to  keep  the  balance  true.  Of  what  use  to  take  the  chair,  and 
glibly  rattle  oil'  theories  of  society,  religion,  and  nature,  when 
1  know  that  practical  objections  lie  in  the  way,  insurmountable 
by  me  and  by  my  mates]  Why  so  talkative  in  public,  when 
each  of  my  neighbors  can  pin  me  to  my  seat  by  arguments  I 
cannot  ivfute  t  Why  pretend  that  life  is  so  simple  a  game, 
when  we  know  how  subtle  and  illusive  the  Proteus  is?  Why 
think  to  shut  up  all  things  in  your  narrow  coop,  when  we 
know  there  are  not  one  or  two  only,  but  ten,  twenty,  a  thou 
sand  things,  and  unlike?  Why  fancy  that  you  have  all 
the  truth  in  your  keeping  1  There  is  much  to  say  on  all 
sides. 

Who  shall  forbid  a  wise  scepticism,  seeing  that  there  is  no 
practical  question  on  which  anything  more  than  an  approxi 
mate  solution  can  be  had?  Is  not  marriage  an  open  question, 
when  it  is  alleged,  from  the  beginning  of  the  world,  that  such 
as  are  in  the  institution  wish  to  get  out,  and  such  as  are  out 
wish  to  get  in  ?  And  the  reply  of  Socrates,  to  him  who  asked 
whether  he  should  choose  a  wife,  still  remains  reasonable, 
"  that,  whether  he  should  choose  one  or  not,  he  would  repent 
it."  Is  not  the  state  a  question?  All  society  is  divided  in 
opinion  on  the  subject  of  the  state.  Nobody  loves  it ;  great 
numbers  dislike  it,  and  suffer  conscientious  scruples  to  aL 
legiance  :  and  the  only  defence  set  up,  is  the  fear  of  doing 
worse  in  disorganizing.  Is  it  otherwise  with  the  church  ?  Or, 
to  put  any  of  the  questions  which  touch  mankind  nearest,  — > 
shall  the  young  man  aim  at  a  leading  part  in  law,  in  politics, 
in  trade  ?  It  will  not  be  pretended  that  a  success  in  either  of 
these  kinds  is  quite  coincident  with  what  is  best  and  inmost 
in  his  mind.  Shall  he,  then,  cutting  the  stays  that  hold  him 
fast  to  the  social  state,  put  out  to  sea  with  no  guidance  but 
nius?  There  is  much  to  say  on  both  sides.  Remember 
the  open  question  between  the  present  order  of  "competition," 
and  the  friends  of  "  attractive  and  associated  labor."  The 
generous  minds  embrace  the  proposition  of  labor  sl.ared.  by- 
all  ;  it  is  the  only  honesty  :  nothing  else  is  safe.  It  is  from 
the  poor  man's  hut  alone,  that  strength  and  virtue  come  :  and 
yet,  on  the  other  side,  it  is  alleged  that  labor  impairs  the  form, 
and  breaks  the  spirit  of  man,  and  the  laborers  cry  unani- 


86  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

niously,  '  We  have  no  thoughts.'  Culture,  how  indispensable  ! 
I  cannot  forgive  you  the  want  of  accomplishments  ;  and  yet, 
culture  will  instantly  impair  that  chiefest  beauty  of  sponta- 
neousness.  Excellent  is  culture  for  a  savage  ;  but  once  let 
him  read  in  the  book,  and  he  is  no  longer  able  not  to  think  of 
Plutarch's  heroes.  In  short,  since  true  fortitude  of  under 
standing  consists  "  in  not  letting  what  we  know  be  embar 
rassed  by  what  we  do  not  know,"  we  ought  to  secure  those  ad 
vantages  which  we  can  command,  and  not  risk  them  by  clutch 
ing  after  the  airy  and  unattainable.  Come,  no  chimeras  ! 
Let  us  go  abroad  ;  let  us  mix  in  affairs  ;  let  us  learn,  and  get, 
alid  have,  and  climb.  "  Men  are  a  sort  of  moving  plants,  and, 
like  trees,  receive  a  great  part  of  their  nourishment  from  the 
air.  If  they  keep  too  much  at  home,  they  pine."  Let  us 
have  a  robust,  manly  life  ;  let  us  know  what  we  know,  for  cer 
tain  ;  what  we  have,  let  it  be  solid,  and  seasonable,  and  our 
own.  A  world  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the  bush.  Let  us 
have  to  do  with  real  men  and  women,  and  not  with  skipping 
ghosts. 

This,  then,  is  the  right  ground  of  the  sceptic,  —  this  of  con 
sideration,  of  self-containing  ;  not  at  all  of  unbelief ;  not  at  all  of 
universal  denying,  nor  of  universal  doubting,  —  doubting  even 
that  he  doubts  ;  least  of  all,  of  scoffing  and  profligate  jeering  at 
all  that  is  stable  and  good.  These  are  no  more  his  moods  than 
are  those  of  religion  and  philosophy.  He  is  the  considerer,  the 
prudent,  taking  in  sail,  counting  stock,  husbanding  his  means, 
believing  that  a  man  has  too  many  enemies,  than  that  he  can  af 
ford  to  be  his  own  ;  that  we  cannot  give  ourselves  too  many  ad 
vantages,  in  this  unequal  conflict,  with  powers  so  vast  and 
unweariable  ranged  on  one  side,  and  this  little,  conceited,  vul 
nerable  popinjay  that  a  man  is,  bobbing  up  and  down  into  every 
danger,  on  the  other.  '  It  is  a  position  taken  up  for  better  defence, 
as  of  more  safety,  and  one  that  can  be  maintained  ;  and  it  is  one 
of  more  opportunity  and  range  :  as,  when  we  build  a  house, 
the  rule  is  to  set  it  not  too  high  nor  too  low,  under  the  wind, 
but  out  of  the  dirt. 

The  philosophy  we  want  is  one  of  fluxions  and  mobility. 
The  Spartan  and  Stoic  schemes  are  too  stark  and  stiff  for  our 
occasion.  A  theory  of  Saint  John,  and  of  nonresistance, 
seems,  on  the  other  hand,  too  thin  and  aerial.  We  want  some 
coat  woven  of  elastic  steel,  stout  as  the  first,  and  limber  as 
the  second.  We  want  a  ship  in  these  billows  we  inhabit.  An 
angular,  dogmatic  house  would  be  rent  to  chips  and  splinters, 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,  THE   SCEPTIC.  87 

in  this  storm  of  many  elements.  No.  it.  must  lie  tight,  and  fit 
to  tin1  form  of  man.  to  live  at  all  ;  as  a  shell  must  dictate  the 
arehiteetmv  of  a  house  founded  on  the  sea.  The  soul  of  man 
niuM  l»e  the  type  of  our  srheme,  ju>t  as  the  body  of  man  is 
the  type  after  which  Ji  dwelling-house  is  built.  Adaptiveneaii 

is  the  peculiarity  of  human  nature.      We  are  golden  averages; 

yolitant  stabilities,  compensated  or  periodic  errors,  houses 
founded  on  the  sea.  The  wise  sceptic  wishes  to  have  a  near 
view  of  the  hest  game,  and  the  chief  players  ;  what  is  best  in 
the  planet  :  art.  and  nature,  places  ami  events,  but  mainly 
men.  Everything  that  is  excellent  in  mankind,  —  a  form  of 
grace,  an  arm  of  iron,  lips  of  persuasion,  a  brain  of  resources, 
every  one  skilful  to  play  and  win,—  he  will  see  and  jud 

The  terms  of  admission  to  this  spectacle,  are,  that  he  have  a 
certain  solid  and  intelligible  way  of  living  of  his  own  ;  some 
method  of  answering  the  inevitable  needs  of  human  life  ;  proof 
that  he  has  played  with  skill  and  success  :  that  he  has  evinced 
the  temper,  stout  ness,  and  the  range  of  qualities  which,  among 
his  contemporaries  and  countrymen,  entitle  him  to  fellowship 
and  trust.  For,  the  secrets  of  life  are  not  shown  except  to 
sympathy  ami  likeness.  Men  do  not  confide  themselv 
boys,  or  coxcombs,  or  pedants,  but  to  their  peers.  Some  wise 
limitation,  as  the  modem  phrase  is;  some  condition  between 
the  extremes,  and  having  itself  a  positive  quality  ;  some  stark 
and  sufficient  man,  who  is  not  salt  or  sugar,  but  sufficiently 
related  to  the  world  to  do  justice  to  Paris  or  London,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  a  vigorous  and  original  thinker,  whom  cities 
cannot  overawe,  but  who  uses  them,  —  is  the  n't  person  to  oc 
cupy  this  gnnmd  of  speculation. 

These  qualities  meet  in   the  character  of  Montaigne.     And 
;ice  the  personal  re<_rard  which  1  entertain  for  Montaigne 
may  be  unduly  great,  1  will,  under  the  shield  of  this  prince  of 
•s,  offer,  as  an  apology  for  electing  him  as  the  representa 
tive  of  scepticism,  a  word  or  two  to  explain  how  my  love  be 
gan  and  grew  for  this  admirable  gossip. 

A  single  odd  volume  of  Cotton's  translation  of  the  Essays  re 
mained  to  me  from  my  lather's  library,  when  a  boy.  It  lay 
Imiir  neirlected.  until,  alter  many  years,  when  I  was  newly  •  s- 
caped  from  college,  I  read  tin-  honk,  and  procured  the  remain- 
in^'  volumes.  I  remember  the  delight  and  wonder  in  which  I 
lived  with  it.  It  s-emed  to  me  as  if  I  had  myself  written  the 
book,  in  some  former  life,  so  sincerely  it  spoke  to  my  thought 
and  experience.  It  happened,  when  in  Paris,  in  183J,  that,  in 


88  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 

the  cemetery  of  Pere  la  Chaise,  I  came  to  a  tomb  of  Auguste 
CollignoD,  who  died  in  1830,  aged  sixty-eight  years,  and  vho, 
said  the  monument,  "'  lived  to  do  right,  and  had  formed  him 
self  to  virtue  on  the  Essays  of  Montaigne."  Some  years  later, 
I  became  acquainted  with  an  accomplished  English  poet,  John 
Sterling  ;  and,  in  prosecuting  my  correspondence,  I  found  that, 
from  a  love  of  Montaigne,  he  had  made  a  pilgrimage  to  his 
chateau,  still  standing  near  Castellan,  in  Perigord,  and,  after 
two  hundred  and  fifty  years,  had  copied  from  the  walls  of  his 
library  the  inscriptions  which  Montaigne  had  written  there. 
That  Journal  of  Mr.  Sterling's,  published  in  the  Westminster 
Keview,  Mr.  Hazlitt  has  reprinted  in  the  Prolegomena  to  his 
edition  of  the  Essays.  I  heard  with  pleasure  that  one  of  the 
newly  discovered  autographs  of  William  Shakespeare  was  in  a 
copy  of  Florio's  translation  of  Montaigne.  It  is  the  only  book 
which  we  certainly  know  to  have  been  in  the  poet's  library. 
And,  oddly  enough,  the  duplicate  copy  of  Florio.  which  the 
British  Museum  purchased,  with  a  view  of  protecting  the 
Shakespeare  autograph,  (as  I  was  informed  in  the  Museum,) 
turned  out  to  have  the  autograph  of  Ben  Jonson  in  the  fly 
leaf.  Leigh  Hunt  relates  of  Lord  Byron,  that  Montaigne  was 
the  only  great  writer  of  past  times  whom  he  read  with  avowed 
satisfaction.  Other  coincidences,  not  needful  to  be  mentioned 
here,  concurred  to  make  this  old  Gascon  still  new  and  immor 
tal  for  me. 

In  1571,  on  the  death  of  his  father,  Montaigne,  then  thirty- 
eight  years  old,  retired  from  the  practice  of  law,  at  Bordeaux, 
and  settled  himself  on  his  estate.  Though  he  had  been  a  man 
of  pleasure,  and  sometimes  a  courtier,  his  studious  habits  now 
grew  on  him,  and  he  loved  the  compass,  staidness,  and  inde 
pendence  of  the  country  gentleman's  life.  He  took  up  his 
economy  in  good  earnest,  and  made  his  farms  yield  the  most. 
Downright  and  plain  dealing,  and  abhorring  to  be  deceived  or 
to  deceive,  he  was  esteemed  in  the  country  for  his  sense  and 
probity.  In  the  civil  wars  of  the  League,  which  converted 
every  house  into  a  fort,  Montaigne  kept  his  gates  open,  and 
his  house  without  defence.  All  parties  freely  came  and  went, 
his  courage  and  honor  being  universally  esteemed.  The  neigh 
boring  lords  and  gentry  brought  jewels  and  papers  to  him  for 
safe-keeping.  Gibbon  reckons,  in  these  bigoted  times,  but  two 
men  of  liberality  in  France,  —  Henry  IV.  and  Montaigne. 

Montaigne  is  the  frankest  and  honestest  of  all  writers. 
His  French  freedom  runs  into  grossness ;  but  he  has  antici' 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,   THE   SCEPTIC.  80 

pated  all  censure  by  the  bounty  of  his  own  confessions.  In 
his  times,  books  were  written  to  one  sex  only,  and  almost  all 
written  in  Latin  ;  so  that,  in  a  humorist,  a  certain  naked 
ness  of  statement  was  permitted,  which  our  manners,  of  a 
literature  addressed  equally  to  both  sexes,  do  not  allow.  Hut, 
though  a  liiblieal  plainness,  coupled  with  a  most  uncanonical 
levity,  may  shut  his  paires  to  many  sensitive  readers,  yet  the 
offence  is  superficial.  He  parades  it :  he  makes  the  most  of 
it :  nobody  can  think  or  say  worse  of  him  than  he  does.  He 
:.ds  to  most  of  the  vices;  and,  if  there  be  any  virtue  in 
him,  he  says,  it  got  in  by  stealth.  There  is  no  man,  in  his 
opinion,  who  has  not  deserved  hanging  five  or  six  times;  and 
he  pretends  no  exception  in  his  own  behalf.  "Five  or  six  as 
ridiculous  stories,"  too,  he  says,  "  can  be  told  of  me,  as  of  any 
man  living."  Hut,  with  all  this  really  superfluous  frankness, 
the  opinion  of  an  invincible  probity  grows  into  every  reader's 
mind. 

'•  When  I  the  most  strictly  and  religiously  confess  myself, 
I  find  that  the  best,  virtue  I  have  has  in  it  some  tincture  of 
vice;  and  I  am  afraid  that  Plato,  in  his  purest  virtue,  (I,  who 
am  as  sincere  and  perfect  a  lover  of  virtue  of  that  stamp  as 
any  other  whatever,)  if  he  had  listened,  and  laid  his  ear  close 
to  himself,  would  have  heard  some  jarring  sound  of  human 
mixture  ;  but  faint  and  remote,  and  only  to  be  perceived  by 
himself." 

Here  is  an  impatience  and  fastidiousness  at  color  or  pre 
tence  of  any  kind.  He  has  been  in  courts  so  long  as  to  have 
conceived  a  furious  disgust  at  appearances ;  he  will  indulge 
himself  with  a  little  cursing  and  swearing ;  he  will  talk  with 
sailors  and  gypsies,  use  ilash  and  street  ballads  :  he  has  stayed 
in-doors  till  he  is  deadly  sick ;  he  will  to  the  open  air,  though 
it  rain  bullets.  He  has  seen  too  much  of  gentlemen  of  the 
long  robe,  until  he,wishes  for  cannibals ;  and  is  so  nervous,  by 
factitiojis  life,  that  he  thinks,  the  more  barbarous  man  is,  the 
better  he  is.  He  likes  his  saddle.  You  may  read  theology, 
and  grammar,  and  metaphysics  elsewhere.  Whatever  you  get 
here,  shall  smack  of  the  earth  and  of  real  life,  sweet,  or  smart, 
or  stinging.  He  makes  no  hesitation  to  entertain  you  with 
the  records  of  his  disease  ;  and  his  journey  to  Italy  is  quite 
full  of  that  matter.  He  took  and  kept  this  position  of  equilib 
rium.  Over  his  name,  he  drew  an  emblematic  pair  of  scales, 
and  wrote  Que  s$ais  je  ?  under  it.  As  I  look  at  his  effigy  op 
posite  the  title-page,  I  seem  to  hear  him  say,  *  You  may  play 


90  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

old  Poz,  if  you  will ;  you  may  rail  and  exaggerate,  —  I  stand 
here  for  truth,  and  will  not,  for  all  the  states,  and  churches, 
and  revenues,  and  personal  reputations  of  Europe,  overstate 
the  dry  fact,  as  I  see  it ;  I  will  rather  mumble  and  prose  about 
what  I  certainly  know,  —  my  house  and  barns  ;  my  father,  my 
wife,  and  my  tenants ;  my  old  lean  bald  pate ;  my  knives  and 
forks  ;  what  meats  I  eat,  and  what  drinks  I  prefer ;  and  a 
hundred  straws  just  as  ridiculous, — than  I  will  write,  with  a 
fine  crow-quill,  a  fine  romance.  I  like  gray  days,  and  autumn 
and  winter  weather.  I  am  gray  and  autumnal  myself,  and 
think  an  undress,  and  old  shoes  that  do  not  pinch  my  feet, 
and  old  friends  who  do  not  constrain  me,  and  plain  topics 
where  I  do  not  need  to  strain  myself  and  pump  my  brains, 
the  most  suitable.  Our  condition  as  men  is  risky  and  ticklish 
enough.  One  cannot  be  sure  of  himself  and  his  fortune  an 
hour,  but  he  may  be  whisked  off  into  some  pitiable  or  ridicu 
lous  plight.  Why  should  I  vapor  and  play  the  philosopher, 
instead  of  ballasting,  the  best  I  can,  this  dancing  balloon  1 
80,  at  least,  I  live  within  compass,  keep  myself  ready  for 
action,  and  can  shoot  the  gulf,  at  lust,  with  decency.  If  there 
be  anything  farcical  in  such  a  life,  the  blame  is  not  mine  :  let 
it  lie  at  fate's  and  nature's  door.' 

The  Essays,  therefore,  are  an  entertaining  soliloquy  on  every 
random  topic  that  comes  into  his  head  ;  treating  everything 
without  ceremony,  yet  with  masculine  sense.  There  have 
been  men  with  deeper  insight ;  but,  one  would  say,  never  a 
man  with  such  abundance  of  thoughts  :  he  is  never  dull,  never 
insincere,  and  has  the  genius  to  make  the  reader  care  for  all 
that  he  cares  for. 

The  sincerity  and  marrow  of  the  man  reaches  to  his  sen 
tences.  I  know  not  anywhere  the  book  that  seems  less  writ 
ten.  It  is  the  language  of  conversation  transferred  to  a  book. 
Cut  these  words  and  they  would  bleed  ;  they  are  vascular  and 
alive.  One  has  the  same  pleasure  in  it  that  we  have  in  listen 
ing  to  the  necessary  speech  of  men  about  their  work,  when 
any  unusual  circumstance  gives  momentary  importance  to  the 
dialogue.  For  blacksmiths  and  teamsters  do  not  trip  in  their 
bpeech  ;  it  is  a  shower  of  bullets.  It  is  Cambridge  men  who 
correct  themselves,  and  begin  again  at  every  half-sentence, 
and,  moreover,  will  pun,  and  refine  too  much,  and  swerve 
from  the  matter  to  the  expression.  Montaigne  talks  with 
shrewdness,  knows  the  world,  and  books,  and  himself,  and  uses 
the  positive  degree  :  never  shrieks,  or  protests,  or  prays  :  no 


MOXTAICNI-  :     Oil,    THK    SCEPTIC.  91 

weakness,  no  convulsion,  no  superlative  :  docs  not  wish  f() 
jump  out  of  Ills  skin,  or  play  any  unties,  or  annihilate  spare 
or  time  ;  but  is  stout  and  solid  ;  tastes  every  moment  of  the 
day  ;  likes  pain,  became  it  makes  him  feel  himself,  and  reali/o 
things,  as  \ve  pinch  ourselves  to  know  that  \\e  are  awake.  lie 
the  plain;  he  rarely  mounts  or  sinks;  likes  to  feel  solid 
ground,  and  the  stones  underneath.  Mis  writing  has  no  en 
thusiasms,  no  aspiration  ;  contented,  self-respecting,  and  keep 
ing  the  middle  of  the  road.  There  is  but  one  exception,  —  in 
his  love  for  Socrates.  In  speaking  of  him,  for  once  his  cheek 
flushes,  and  his  style  rises  to  passion. 

Montaigne  died  of  a  <punsy,  at  the  age  of  sixty,  in  1592. 
When  he  came  to  die,  he  caused  the  mass  to  be  celebrated  in 
his  chamber.  At  the  age  of  thirty-three,  he  had  been  mar 
ried.  "  But,"  he  says,  "  might  I  have  had  my  own  will,  I 
would  not  have  married  \Visdom  herself,  if  slie  would  have 
had  me:  but  't  is  to  much  purpose  to  evade  it,  the  common 
custom  and  use  of  life  will  have  it  so.  Most  of  my  actions 
are  miided  by  example,  not  choice."  In  the  hour  of  death,  he 
gave  the  sam;>  weight  to  custom.  Qu<-  Sflrit  jc  ?  "\Vhat  do  I 
know  '. 

This  book  of  Montaigne  the  world  has  indorsed,  by  trans 
lating  it  into  all  tongues,,  and  printing  seventy-five  editions  of 
it  in  Europe  :  and  that,  too,  a  circulation  somewhat  chosen, 
namely,  among  courtiers,  soldiers,  princes,  men  of  the  world, 
and  meii  of  wit  and  generosity. 

Shall  we  say  that  Montaigne  has  spoken  wisely,  and  given 
the  right  and  permanent  expression  of  the  human  mind,  on 
the  conduct  of  life  1 

We  arc  natural  believers.  Tnith,  or  the  connection  between 
cause  and  effect,  alone  interests  us.  We  are  persuaded  that  a 
thread  runs  through  all  things:  all  worlds  are  strung  on  it,  as 
beads:  and  men,  and  events,  and  life,  come  to  us,  only  be 
cause  of  that  thread  :  they  pass  and  repass,  only  that  we  may 
know  the  direction  and  continuity  of  that  line.  A  book  or 
statement  which  gOM  to  show  that  there  is  no  line,  but  ran 
dom  and  chaos,  a  calamity  out  of  nothing,  a  prosperitv  and  no 
account  of  it.  a  hero  born  from  a  fool,  a  fool  from  a  hero,  — 
dispirits  us.  Seen  or  unseen,  we  believe  the  tie  exists.  Tal 
ent  makes  counterfeit  ties ;  genius  finds  the  real  ones.  AVc 
hearken  to  the  man  of  science,  because  we  anticipate  the 


92  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

sequence  in  natural  phenomena  which  he  uncovers.  We  love 
whatever  affirms,  connects,  preserves  ;  and  dislike  what  scatters 
or  pulls  down.  One  man  appears  whose  nature  is  to  all  men's 
eyes  conserving  and  constructive  :  his  presence  supposes  a 
well-ordered  society,  agriculture,  trade,  large  institutions,  and 
empire.  If  these  did  not  exist,  they  would  begin  to  exist 
through  his  endeavors.  Therefore,  he  cheers  and  comforts 
men,  who  feel  all  this  in  him  very  readily.  The  nonconformist 
and  the  rebel  say  all  manner  of  unanswerable  things  against 
the  existing  republic,  but  discover  to  our  sense  no  plan  of 
house  or  state  of  their  own.  Therefore,  though  the  town,  and 
state,  and  way  of  living,  which  our  counsellor  contemplated, 
might  be  a  very  modest  or  musty  prosperity,  yet  men  rightly 
go  for  him,  and  reject  the  reformer,  so  long  as  he  comes  only 
with  axe  and  crowbar. 

But  though  we  are  natural  conservers  and  causationists,  and 
reject  a  sour,  dumpish  unbelief,  the  sceptical  class,  which 
Montaigne  represents,  have  reason,  and  every  man,  at  some 
time,  belongs  to  it.  Every  superior  mind  will  pass  through 
this  domain  of  equilibration,  —  I  should  rather  say,  will  know 
how  to  avail  himself  of  the  checks  and  balances  in  nature,  as 
a  natural  weapon  against  the  exaggeration  and  formalism  of 
bigots  and  blockheads. 

Scepticism  is  the  attitude  assumed  by  the  student  in  rela 
tion  to  the  particulars  which  society  adorns,  hnt.  whip.h  he 
sees  to  be  reverend  only  in  their  tendency  and  spirit.  The 
ground  occupied  by  the  sceptic  is  the  vestibule  of  the  temple. 
Society  does  not  like  to  have  any  breath  of  question  blown  on 
the  existing  order.  But  the  interrogation  of  custom  at  all 
points  is  an  inevitable  stage  in  the  growth  of  every  superior 
mind,  and  is  the  •  evidence  of  its  perception  of  the  flowing 
power  which  remains  itself  in  all  changes. 

The  superior  mind  will  find  itself  equally  at  odds  with 
the  evils  of  society,  and  with  the  projects  that  are  offered 
to  relieve  them.  The  wise  sceptic  is  a  bad  citizen ;  no  con 
servative  ;  he  sees  the  selfishness  of  property,  and  the  drow 
siness  of  institutions.  But  neither  is  he  fit  to  work  with 
any  democratic  party  that  ever  was  constituted  ;  for  parties 
wish  every  one  committed,  and  he  penetrates  the  popular 
patriotism.  His  politics  are  those  of  the  "  Soul's  Errand " 
of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh ;  or  of  Krishna,  in  the  Bhagavat, 
"  There  is  none  who  is  worthy  of  my  love  or  hatred " ; 
whilst  he  sentences  law,  physic,  divinity,  commerce,  and  cus- 


MONTAIGNE;    OK,   THE    SCEPTIC  93 

torn.  Ho  is  a  reformer  :  yet  lie  is  no  better  member  of 
the  philanthropic  association.  It  turns  out  that  he  is  not 
the  champion  of  the  operative,  the  pauper,  the  prisoner,  the 
slave.  It  stands  in  his  mind,  that  our  life  in  this  world  is 
not  of  quite  so  easy  interpretation  as  churches  and  school- 
books  say.  He  does  not  wish  to  take  ground  against  these 
benevolences,  to  play  the  part  of  devil's  attorney,  and  blazon 
every  doubt  and  sneer  that  darkens  the  sun  for  him.  But 
he  says,  There  are  doubts. 

I  mean  to  use  the  occasion,  and  celebrate  the  calendar-day 
of  our  Saint  Michel  de  Montaigne,  by  counting  and  describ 
ing  these  doubts  or  negations.  I  wish  to  ferret  them  out 
of  their  holes,  and  sun  them  a  little.  We  must  do  with 
them  as  the  police  do  with  old  rogues,  who  are  shown  up 
to  the  public  at  the  marshal's  office.  They  will  never  be 
so  formidable,  when  once  they  have  been  identified  and  regis 
tered.  But  I  mean  honestly  by  them,  —  that  justice  shall 
be  done  to  their  terrors.  I  shall  not  take  Sunday  objections, 
made  up  on  purpose  to  be  put  down.  I  shall  take  the  worst 
1  can  find,  whether  1  can  dispose  of  them,  or  they  of  me. 

I  do  not  press  the  scepticism  of  the  materialist.  I  know, 
the  quadruped  opinion  will  not  prevail. '  'T  is  of  no  impor 
tance  what  bats  and  oxen  think.  The  first  dangerous  symp 
tom  1  report,  is,  the  levity  of  intellect  ;  as  if  it  were  fatal 
to  earnestness  to  know  much.  Knowledge  is  the  know- 
in -JT  that  we  cannot  know.  The  dull  pray  ;  the  geniuses  are 
light  mockers.  How  respectable  is  earnestness  on  every  plat 
form  !  but  intellect  kills  it.  Nay,  San  Carlo,  my  subtle  and 
admirable  friend,  one  of  the  most  penetrating  of  men,  finds 
that  all  direct  ascension,  even  of  lofty  piety,  leads  to  this 
ghastly  insight,  and  sends  back  the  votary  orphaned.  M  v 
astonishing  San  Carlo  thought  the  lawgivers  and  saints  in 
fected.  They  found  the  ark  empty  ;  saw,  and  would  not  tell; 
and  tried  to  choke  oft'  their  approaching  followers,  by  saying, 
*  Action,  action,  my  dear  fellows,  is  for  you  ! '  Bad  as  was 
to  me  this  detection  by  San  Carlo,  this  frost  in  July,  this 
blow  from  a  bride,  there  was  still  a  worse,  namely,  the  cloy 
or  satiety  of  the  saints.  In  the  mount  of  vision,  ere  tln-v 
have  yet  risen  from  their  knees,  they  say,  '  We  discover  that 
this  our  homage  and  beatitude  is  partial  and  deformed  :  we 
must  fly  for  relief  to  the  susp^-rtrd  and  reviled  Intellect,  to 
the  Understanding,  the  Mephistopheles,  to  the  gymnastics  of 
talent.' 


94  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

This  is  hojngoblin  the  first ;  and,  though  it  has  been  the 
subject  of  much  elegy,  in  our  nineteenth  century,  from  By 
ron,  Goethe,  and  other  poets  of  less  fame,  not  to  mention 
many  distinguished  private  observers,  —  I  confess  it  is  not 
very  affecting  to  my  imagination  ;  for  it  seems  to  concern 
the  shattering  of  baby-houses  and  crockery-shops.  What  flut 
ters  the  church  of  Rome,  or  of  England,  or  of  Geneva,  or  of 
Boston,  may  yet  be  very  far  from  touching  any  principle  of 
faith.  I  think  that  the  intellect  and  moral  sentiment  are 
unanimous  ;  and  that,  though  philosophy  extirpates  bugbears, 
yet  it  supplies  the  natural  checks  of  vice,  and  polarity  to 
the  soul.  I  think  that  the  wiser  a  man  is,  the  more  stu 
pendous  he  finds  the  natural  and  moral  economy,  and  lifts 
himself  to  a  more  absolute  reliance. 

There  is  the  power  of  moods,  each  setting  at  naught  all 
but  its  own  tissue  of  facts  and  beliefs.     There  is  the  power 
of  complexions,  obviously  modifying  the  dispositions  and  sen 
timents.     The  beliefs  and  unbeliefs  appear  to  be  structural ; 
and,  as    soon   as    each    man    attains  the  poise    and  vivacity 
which  allow  the  whole  machinery  to  play,  he  will  not  need 
extreme  examples,  but  will  rapidly  alternate  all  opinions  in 
his  own  life.     Our  life  is  March  weather,  savage  and  serene 
in  one  hour.     We  go  forth    austere,  dedicated,  believing    in 
the  iron  links  of  Destiny,  and  will  not  turn  on  our  heel  to 
save  our  life  :    but  a  book  or  a  bust,  or  only  the  sound  of 
a  name,  shoots  a  spark  through  the  nerves,  and  we  suddenly 
believe  in  will  :  my  finger-ring  shall  be  the  seal  of  Solomon  : 
fate  is  for  imbeciles:    all    is    possible  to  the  resolved  mind. 
Presently,  a  new  experience  gives  a  new  turn  to  our  thoughts  : 
common" sense  resumes  its  tyranny  :  we  say,  'Well,  the  army, 
after  all,  is  the  gate  to  fame,  manners,  and  poetry  :  and,  look 
V0ll)  _  on    the  whole,   selfishness    plants    best,  prunes  best, 
makes  the  best  commerce,  and  the  best  citizen.'        Are  the 
opinions  of  a  man  011  right  and  wrong,  011  fate  and  causation, 
at  the  mercy  of  a  broken  sleep  or  an  indigestion'?      Is  his 
belief  in  God  and  Duty  no  deeper  than  a  stomach  evidence  1 
And  what  guaranty  for  the  permanence  of  his  opinions?     I 
like  not  the  French  celerity,  —  a  new  church  and  state  once 
a  week.     This  is  the  second  negation  ;    and    I    shall    let   it 
pass  for  what  it  will.     As  far  as  it  asserts  rotation  of  states 
of   mind,  I  suppose  it  suggests  its  own  remedy,  namely,  in 
the  record  of   larger  periods.      What  is    the  mean  of  many 
states ;    of   all  the  states  1      Does  the  general  voice  of   ages 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,    THE   SCEPTIC  '.'."» 

affirm  any  principle,  or  is  no  community  of  sentiment  discov 
erable  in  distant  times  and  places?  And  when  it  shews  the 
power  of  si'lf-mteresr,  I  accept  that  as  part  of  the  divine 
law.  ami  must  reconcile  it  with  aspiration  the  hcst  1  can. 

Tho  word  Kate,  or  Destiny,  expresses  the  sense  of  mankind, 
in  all  ages,  thai  tin-  laws  of  the  world  do  not  always  be 
friend,  but  often  hurt  and  crush  us.  Fate,  in  the  shape  of 
Kinde  or  nature,  grows  over  us  like  grass.  \Ve  paint  Time 
with  a  scythe;  Love  and  Fortune,  blind  ;  and  Destiny,  deaf. 
\Ye  have  too  little  power  of  resistance  against  this  ferocity 
which  champs  us  up.  AY  hat  front  can  we  make  against  these 
unavoidable,  victorious,  maleficent  foTOOfl  .'  What  can  T  do 
against  the  influence  of  lla'V.  in  my  history]  What  can  I  do 
against  hereditary  and  constitutional  habits,  against  st^ulijla, 
Kmph,  imp_otence  ;  against  climate,  against  barbarism,  in  my 
countrv  I  I  can  reason  down  or  denv  e\ erything,  except  this 
perpetual  Belly  :  feed  he  must  and  will,  and  1  cannot  make 
him  respectable. 

But  the  main  resistance  which  the  affirmative  impulse  finds, 
and  one  including  all  others,  is  in  the  doctrine  of  the  Illusion- 
There  is  a  painful  rumor  in  circulation,  that  we  have 
been  practised  upon  in  all  the  principal  performances  of  life, 
and  free  agency  is  the  emptiest  name.  We  have  been  sopped 
and  drilled  with  the  air,  with  food,  with  woman,  with  chil 
dren,  with  sciences,  with  events,  which  leave  us  exactly  where 
they  found  us.  The  mathematics,  'tis  complained,  leave  the 
mind  where  they  find  it:  so  do  all  sciences;  and  so  do  all 
events  and  actions.  T  find  a  man  who  has  passed  through 
all  the  sciences,  the  churl  he  was  ;  and  through  all  the  offices, 
learned,  civil,  and  social,  can  detect  the  child.  We  are  not 
the  less  necessitated  t-»  dedicate  life  to  them.  In  fact,  we  may 
come  to  accept  it  as  the  fixed  rule  and  theory  of  our  state  of 
education,  that  God  is  a  substance,  and  his  method  is  illusion. 
The  K.istern  sages  owned  the  goddess  Voganidra,  the  great 
illusory  energy  of  Vishnu,  by  whom,  as  utter  ignorance,  the 
wh"le-  world  is  beguiled. 

Or,  shall  I  state  it  thus?  —  The  astonishment  of  life,  is,  the 
absence  of  any  appearance  of  reconciliation  between  the  theory 
and  practice  of  life.  Reason,  the  prixed  reality,  the  Law,  is 
apprehended,  now  and  then,  for  a  serene  and  profound  moment, 
amidst  the  hubbub  of  cares  and  works  which  have  n<»  direct 
bearing  on  it ;  —  is  then  lost,  for  months  or  years,  and  again 


96  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

found,  for  an  interval,  to  be  lost  again.  If  we  compute  it  in 
time,  we  may,  in  fifty  years,  have  half  a  dozen  reasonable 
hours.  But  what  are  these  cares  and  works  the  better  ]  A 
method  in  the  world  we  do  not  see,  but  this  parallelism  of  great 
and  little,  which  never  react  on  each  other,  nor  discover  the 
smallest  tendency  to  converge.  Experiences,  fortunes,  govern- 
ings,  readings,  writings,  are  nothing  to  the  purpose ;  as  when 
a  man  comes  into  the  room,  it  does  not  appear  whether  he  has 
been  fed  on  yams  or  buffalo,  —  he  has  contrived  to  get  so 
much  bone  and  fibre  as  he  wants,  out  of  rice  or  out  of  snow. 
So  vast  is  the  disproportion  between  the  sky  of  law  and  the 
pismire  of  performance  under  it,  that,  whether  he  is  a  man 
of^worth  or  a  sot,  is  not  so  great  a  matter  as  we  say.  Shall  I 
add,  as  one  juggle  of  this  enchantment,  the  stunning  non-inter 
course  law  which  makes  co-operation  impossible  1  The  young 
spirit  pants  to  enter  society.  But  all  the  ways  of  culture  and 
greatness  lead  to  solitary  imprisonment.  He  has  been  often 
balked.  He  did  not  expect  a  sympathy  with  his  thought 
from  the  village,  but  he  went  with  it  to  the  chosen  and  intelli 
gent,  and  found  no  entertainment  for  it,  but  mere  misappre 
hension,  distaste,  and  scoffing.  Men  are  strangely  mistimed 
and  misapplied  ;  and  the  excellence  of  each  is  an  inflamedj.ii- 
dividualisni  which_separates  him  more. 

'  There  are  these,  and  more~thlirPthese,  diseases  of  thought, 
which  our  ordinary  teachers  do  not  attempt  to  remove.  Now 
shall  we,  because  a  good  nature  inclines  us  to  virtue's  side,  say, 
There  are  no  doubts,  —  and  lie  for  the  right  1  Is  life  to  be 
led  in  a  brave  or  in  a  cowardly  manner  1  and  is  not  the  satis 
faction  of  the  doubts  essential  to  all  manliness  1  Is  the  name 
of  virtue  to  be  a  barrier  to  that  which  is  virtue  1  Can  you  not 
believe  that  a  man  of  earnest  and  burly  habit  may  find  small 
good  in  tea,  essays,  and  catechism,  and  want  a  rougher  instruc 
tion,  want  men,  labor,  trade,  farming,  war,  hunger,  plenty,  love, 
hatred,  doubt,  and  terror,  to  make  things  plain  to  him ;  and 
has  he  not  a  right  to  insist  on  being  convinced  in  his  own  way  ] 
When  he  is  convinced,  he  will  be  worth  the  pains. 

f  Belief  consists  in  accepting  the  affirmations  of  the  soul ; 
unbelief,  in  denying  them./  Some  minds  are  incapable  of 
scepticism.  The  doubts  they  profess  to  entertain  are  rather 
a  civility  or  accommodation  to  the  common  discourse  of  their 
company.  They  may  well  give  themselves  leave  to  speculate, 
for  they  are  secure  of  a  return.  Once  admitted  to  the  heaven 
of  thought,  they  see  no  relapse  into  night,  but  infinite  invita- 


MoXTAIGXE;    OR,   THE   SCEPTIC.  97 

tion  on  the  other  side.  Heaven  is  within  heaven,  and  sky 
over  sky,  and  they  are  encompassed  with  divinities.  Others 
there  are,  to  whom  the  heaven  is  brass,  and  it  shuts  down  to 
the  surface  of  the  earth.  It  is  a  question  of  temperament, 
or  of  more  or  less  immersion  in  nature.  The  last  class  must 
have  a  reflex  or  parasite  faith  ;  not  a  sight  of  realities, 
but  an  instinctive  reliance  on  the  seers  and  believers  of  real 
ities.  The  manners  and  thoughts  of  believers  astonish  them, 
and  convince  them  that  these  have  seen  something  which  is 
hid  from  themselves.  But  their  sensual  habit  would  fix  the 
believer  to  his  last  position,  whilst  he  as  inevitably  advances; 
and  presently  the  unbeliever,  for  love  of  belief,  burns  the  be 
liever. 

(Jreat  believers  are  always  reckoned  infidels,  impracticable, 
fantastic,  atheistic,  and  really  men  of  no  account.  The  spirit 
ualist  finds  himself  driven  to  express  his  faith  by  a  series  of 
scepticisms.  Charitable  souls  comes  with  their  projects,  and 
ask  his  co-operation.  How  can  he  hesitate  ]  It  is  the  rule 
of  mere  comity  and  courtesy  to  agree  where  you  can,  and  to 
turn  your  sentence  with  something  auspicious,  and  not  freez 
ing  and  sinister.  But  he  is  forced  to  say  :  '  0,  these  things 
will  be  as  they  must  be  :  what  can  you  do?  These  particular 
griefs  and  crimes  are  the  foliage  and  fruit  of  such  trees  as  we 
see  growinir.  It  is  vain  to  complain  of  the  leaf  or  the  berry  : 
cut  it  off;  it  will  bear  another  just  as  bad.  You  must  begin 
your  cure  lower  down.'  The  generosities  of  the  day  prove  an 
intractable  clement  for  him.  The  people's  questions  are  not 
his ;  their  methods  are  not  his ;  and,  against  all  the  dictates 
of  good-nature,  he  is  driven  to  say,  he  has  no  pleasure  in 
them. 

Even  the  doctrines  dear  to  the  hope  of  man,  of  the  divine 
Providence,  and  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  his  neighbors 
cannot  put  the  statement  so  that  he  shall  affirm  it.  But  he 
denies  out  of  more  faith,  and  not  less.  He  denies  out  of 
honesty.  He  had  rather  stand  charged  with  the  imbecility  of 
scepticism,  than  with  untruth.  I  believe,  he  says,  in  the 
moral  design  of  the  universe  ;  it  exists  hospitably  for  the  ^v£al 
of  souls;  but  your  dogmas  seem  to  me  caricatures:  why 
should  I  make  believe  them  ]  Will  any  say,  this  is  cold  and 
infidel  ?  The  wise  and  magnanimous  will  not  say  so.  They 
will  exult  in  his  far-sighted  good-will,  that  can  abandon  to  the 
adversarv  all  the  ground  of  tradition  and  common  belief,  with 
out  losing  a  jot  of  strength.  It  sees  to  the  end  of  all  trans- 

VOL.    II.  .5  O 


98  EEPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 

eression.  George  Fox  saw  "  that  there  was  an  ocean  of  dark 
ness  and  death ;  but  withal,  an  infinite  ocean  of  light  and  love 
which  flowed  over  that  of  darkness."  _  . 

(The  nnal_solution_jn_jwhicji_scjpt 

moral  sentimei^^hici]L-Jie3ifiii-fQjfeit.S-its  supremacv.  All 
moocrs^a;fbe~  safely  tried,  and  their  weight  allowed  to  all  ob 
jections  :  the  moral  sentiment  as  easily  outweighs  them  all  as 
any  one.  This  is  the  drop  which  balances  the  sea.  I  play 
with  the  miscellany  of  facts,  and  take  those  superlciaLYiews 
which  we  call  scepticism;  but  I  know  that  they  will  presently 
appe^Tto~ln~e~mthat  order which.make8. scepticism  impossible. 
A  man  of  thought  must  feel  the  thought  that  is  parent  of  the 
universe  :  that  the  masses  of  nature  do  undulate  and  now. 
This  faith  avails  to  the  whole  emergency  of  life  and  objects. 
The  world  is  saturated  with  deity  and  with  law. 
tent  with  just  and  unjust,  with  sots  and  fools,  with  the  tri 
umph  of  folly  and  fraud.  He_can  behold^vithjeremty  the 
yawning  gulf  between  the  ambition  of  man  and  his  power  ot 
performance,  between  the  demand  and  supply  of  power,  which 
makes  the  tragedy  of  all  souk 

Charles  Fourier  announcetl^hat  "  the  attractions  ot  man 
are  proportioned  to  his  destinies"  ;  in  other  words,  that  _ev£iy 
desire  predirts_J±*L_awjQ^^  Yet,  all  experience  ex- 

'Mntsthe  reverse  of  this  ;  the  incompetejucy^fL^owej  is  the 
universal  grief  of  young  and  ardent'  minds.     They  accuse  the 
divine  providence  of  a  certain  parsimony.     It  has  shown  the 
heaven  and  earth  to  every  child,  and  filled  him  with  a  desire 
for  the  whole  ;  a  desire  raging,  infinite  ;  a  hunger,  as  of  space 
to  be  filled  with  planets ;   a  cry  of  famine,  as  of  devils  for 
souls.     Then  for  the  satisfaction,  —  to  each  man  is  adminis 
tered  a  single  drop,  a  bead  of  dew  of  vital  power,  per  day,  — - 
a  cup  as  large  as  space,  and  one  drop  of  the  water  of  life  in 
it.     Each  man  woke  in  the  morning,  with  an  appetite  that 
could  eat  the  solar  system  like  a  cake  ;  a  spirit  for  action  and 
passion  without  bounds ;  he  could  lay  his  hand  on  the  morn- 
mo-  star  :  he  could  try  conclusions  with  gravitation  or  chem 
istry  ;  but,  on  the  first  motion  to  prove  his  strength,  —  hands, 
feet,  senses,  save  way,  and  would  not  serve  him.     He  was  an 
emperor  deserted  by  his  states,  and  left  to  whistle  by  himself, 
or  thrust  into  a  mob  of  emperors,  all  whistling :  and  still  the 
sirens  sang,  "  The  attractions  are  proportioned  to  the  desti 
nies."     In  every  house,  in  the  heart  of  each  maiden,  and  ot 
each  boy,  in  the  soul  of  the  soaring  saint,  this  chasm  is  found, 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,   THE  SCEPTIC.  99 


•  —  betwOOll  the  largest  promise  nf  ideal  pnwp^  nnd  t.h 

experience. 

'I1!  u>  i-xpunsivo  nature  of  truth  comes  to  our  succor,  elastic, 
not  to  IK-  surrounded.  Man  helps  himself  by  larger  uvnerali/a- 
tions.  frhc  lesson  of  life  in  prn.f.tif!illy  f.^  ff»norii1iy,p  ;  to  be 
lieve  what  the  years  and  the  centuries  say  a«rainst  t.hn  hours  ; 
to  resist  thejisurpa'tioD  of  particulars  ;  to  peiietrzjLte_to  their 
catholic  sense.  Things  seem  to  say  one  thing,  and  say  the  re 
verse!  The  appearance  is  immoral  ;  the  result  is  moral. 
Things  seem  to  tend  downward,  to  justify  despondency,  to  pro 
mote  rogues,  to  defeat  the  just  ;  and,  by  knaves,  as  by  mar 
tyr-,  the  just  cause  is  carried  forward.  Although  knaves  win 
in  every  political  struggle,  although  society  seems  to  be  deliv 
ered  over  from  the  hands  of  one  set  of  criminals  into  the  hands 
of  another  set  of  criminals,  as  fast  as  the  government  is 
changed,  and  the  march  of  civilization  is  a  train  of  felonies, 
yet,  general  ends  are  somehow  answered.  We  see,  now, 
events  forced  on,  which  seem  to  retard  or  retrogrado__the  ci 
vility  of  ages.  But  the  world-spirit  is  a  good  swimmer,  and 
storms  and  waves  cannot  drown  him  He  snaps  his  finger  at 
laws  :  and  so,  throughout  history,  heaven  seems  to  affect  low 
and  poor  means.  Through  the  years  and  the  centuries, 
through  evil  agents,  through  toys  and  atoms,  a  great  and 
beneficent  tendency  irresistibly  streams. 

Let  a  man  learn  to  look  for  the  permanent  in  the  mutable 
and  fleeting  ;  let  him  learn  to  bear  the  disappearance  of 
things  he  was  wont  to  reverence,  without  losing  his  rever 
ence  ;  let  him  learn  that  he  is-  here,  not  to  work,  but  to  be 
worked  upon  ;  and  that,  though  abyss""open  under  aby^ss,  and 
opinion  displace  opinion,  all  are  at  last  contained  in  jjie  Eter- 
nal  Cause. 

"  If  my  bark  sink,  't  is  to  another  sea." 


V. 

SHAKESPEARE;    OR,  THE  POET. 


SHAKESPEARE;    OR,  THE   POET. 


GREAT  men  are  more  distinguished  by  range  and  extent, 
r  than  by  originality.  If  we  require  the  originality,  which 
consists  in  weaving,  like  a  spider,  their  web  from  their  own 
bowels  ;  in  finding  clay,  and  making  bricks,  and  building  the 
house  ;  no  great  men  are  original.  Nor  does  valuable  original 
ity  consist  in  unlikeness  to  other  men.  The  hero  is  in  the 
press  of  knights,  and  the  thick  of  events  ;  and,  seeing  what 
men  want,  and  sharing  their  desire,  he  adds  the  needful  length 
of  sight  and  of  arm,  to  come  at  the  desired  point.  The  great 
est  genius  is  the  most  indebted  man.  A  poet  is  no  rattle 
brain,  saying  what  comes  uppermost,  and,  because  he  says 
everything,  saying,  at  last,  something  good  ;  but  a  heart  in 
unison  with  his  time  and  country.  There  is  nothing  whim 
sical  and  fantastic  in  his  production,  but  sweet  and  sad  ear 
nest,  freighted  with  the  weightiest  convictions,  and  pointed 
with  the  most  determined  aim  which  any  man  or  class  knows 
of  in  his  times. 

The  Genius  of  our  life  is  jealous  of  individuals;  and  will 
not  have  any  individual  great,  except  through  the  general. 
There  is  no  choice  to  genius.  A  great  man  does  not  wake  up 
on  some  fine  morning,  and  say,  '  I  am  full  of  life,  I  will  go  to 
sea,  and  find  an  Antarctic  continent  :  to-day  I  will  square  the 
circle  :  I  will  ransack  botany,  and  find  a  new  food  for  man  :  I 
have  a  new  architecture  in  my  mind  :  I  foresee  a  new  mcrhan- 
ic  power  '  :  no,  but  he  finds  himself  in  the  river  of  the  thoughts 
and  events,  forced  onward  by  the  ideas  and  necessities  of  his 
contemporaries.  He  stands  where  all  the  eyes  of  men  look 
one  way,  and  their  hands  all  point  in  the  direction  in  which 
he  should  go.  The  church  has  reared  him  amidst  rites  and 
pomps,  and  he  carries  out  the  advice  which  her  music  gave 
him,  and  builds  a  cathedral  needed  by  her  chants  and  proces- 


104  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 

sions.  He  finds  a  war  raging  :  it  educates  him,  by  trumpet, 
in  barracks,  and  he  betters  the  instruction.  He  finds  two 
counties  groping  to  bring  coal,  or  flour,  or  fish,  from  the  place 
of  production  to  the  place  of  consumption,  and  he  hits  on  a 
railroad.  Every  master  has  found  his  materials  collected,  and 
his  power  lay  in  his  sympathy  with  his  people,  and  in  his 
love  of  the  materials  he  wrought  in.  What  an  economy  of 
power  !  and  what  a  compensation  for  the  shortness  of  life ! 
All  is  done  to  his  hand.  The  world  has  brought  him  thus 
far  on  his  way.  The  human  race  has  gone  out  before  him, 
sunk  the  hills,  filled  the  hollows,  and  bridged  the  rivers. 
Men,  nations,  poets,  artisans,  women,  all  have  worked  for  him, 
and  he  enters  into  their  labors.  Choose  any  other  thing,  out 
of  the  line  of  tendency,  out  of  the  national  feeling  and  history, 
and  he  would  have  all  to  do  for  himself :  his  powers  would  be 
expended  in  the  first  preparations.  Great  genial  power,  one 
would  almost  say,  consists  in  not  being  original  at  all ;  in  be 
ing  altogether  receptive ;  in  letting  the  world  do  all,  and  suf 
fering  the  spirit  of  the  hour  to  pass  unobstructed  through  the 
mind. 

Shakespeare's  youth  fell  in  a  time  when  the  English  people 
were  importunate  for  dramatic  entertainments.  The  court 
took  offence  easily  at  political  allusions,  and  attempted  to  sup 
press  them.  The  Puritans,  a  growing  and  energetic  party, 
and  the  religious  among  the  Anglican  church,  would  suppress 
them.  But  the  people  wanted  them.  Inn-yards,  houses 
without  roofs,  and  extemporaneous  enclosures  at  country  fairs, 
were  the  ready  theatres  of  strolling  players.  The  people  had 
tasted  this  new  joy  ;  and,  as  we  could  not  hope  to  suppress 
newspapers  now,  —  no,  not  by  the  strongest  party,  —  neither 
then  could  king,  prelate,  or  puritan,  alone  or  united,  suppress 
an  organ,  which  was  ballad,  epic,  newspaper,  caucus,  lecture, 
Punch,  and  library,  at  the  same  time.  Probably  king,  prelate, 
and  puritan,  all  found  their  own  account  in  it.  It  had  become, 
by  all  causes,  a  national  interest,  —  by  no  means  conspicuous, 
so  that  some  great  scholar  would  have  thought  of  treating  it 
in  an  English  history,  —  but  not  a  whit  less  considerable,  be 
cause  it  was  cheap,  and  of  no  account,  like  a  baker's  shop. 
The  best  proof  of  its  vitality  is  the  crowd  of  writers  which 
suddenly  broke  into  this  field  ;  Kyd,  Marlow,  Greene,  Jonson, 
Chapman,  Dekker,  Webster,  Heywood,  Middleton,  Peele,  Ford, 
Massinger,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 

The  secure  possession,  by  the  stage,  of  the  public  mind,  is 


SHAKESPEARE  ;    OR,   THE    POET.  105 


of  the  first  importance  to  the  poet  who  works  for  it.  Tie 
no  time  in  idle  experiments.  Hero  is  audience  and  expectation 
prepared.  In  the  rase  of  Shakespeare  there  is  much  more. 
At  the  time  when  he  left  Stratford,  and  went  np  to  London,  a 
gre.it  body  of  Stage-plays,  of  all  dates  and  writers,  exited  in 
manuscript,  and  were  in  turn  produced  on  the  boards.  Here 
is  the  Tale  of  Troy,  which  the  audience  will  bear  hearing  some 
part  of.  every  week  :  the  Death  of  Julius  Cojsar,  and  other 
stories  out  of  Plutarch,  which  they  never  tire  of:  a  shelf  full 
of  English  history,  from  the  chronicles  of  Brut  and  Arthur, 
down  to  the  royal  Henries,  which  men  hear  eagerly  ;  and  a 
string  of  doleful  tragedies,  merry  Italian  tales,  and  Spanish 
voyages,  which  all  the  London  prentices  know.  All  the  mass 
has  been  treated,  with  more  or  less  skill,  by  every  playwright, 
and  the  prompter  has  the  soiled  and  tattered  manuscripts.  It 
is  now  no  longer  possible  to  say  who  wrote  them  first.  They 
have  been  the  property  of  the  Theatre  so  long,  and  so  many 
rising  geniuses  have  enlarged  or  altered  them,  inserting  ;l 
speech,  or  a  whole  scene,  or  adding  a  song,  that  no  man  can 
any  longer  claim  copyright  in  this  work  of  numbers.  Happily, 
no  man  wishes  to.  They  are  not  yet  desired  in  that  way. 
We  have  few  readers,  many  spectators  and  hearers.  They  had 
best  lie  where  they  are. 

Shakespeare,  in  common  with  his  comrades,  esteemed  the 
mass  of  old  plays,  waste  stock,  in  which  any  experiment  could 
be  freely  tried.  Had  the  j>r<  >v///r  \\  Inch  hedges  about  a  modern 
:v  existed,  nothing  could  have  been  done.  The  rude 
warm  blood  of  the  living  England  circulated  in  the  play,  as  in 
street-ballads,  and  gave  body  which  he  wanted  to  his  airy  and 
majestic  fancy.  Th«-  poet  needs  a  ground  in  popular  tradition 
on  which  he  may  work,  and  which,  again,  may  restrain  his  art 
within  the  due  temperance.  It  holds  him  to  the  people,  sup 
plies  a  foundation  for  his  edifice  ;  and,  in  furnishing  so  much 
work  done  to  his  hand,  leaves  him  at  leisure,  and  in  full 
strength  for  the  audacities  of  his  imagination.  In  short,  the 
poet  owes  t<>  his  l^-vud  what  sculpture  owed  to  the  temple. 
Sculpture  in  Kgypt,  and  in  (Jreere.  grew  up  in  subordination 
to  architecture.  It  was  the  >rnament  of  the  temple  wall  :  at 
first,  a  rude  relief  carved  on  pediments,  then  the  ivl:<  f  1  <  came. 
bolder,  and  a  head  or  arm  was  projected  from  the  wall,  the 
groups  being  still  arranged  with  reference  to  the  building, 
which  serves  also  as  a  frame  to  hold  the  figures  :  and  when,  at 
last,  the  greatest  freedom  of  style  and  treatment  was  reached, 


106  REPKESENTATIVE  MEN. 

the  prevailing  genius  of  architecture  still  enforced  a  certain 
calmness  and  continence  in  the  statue.  As  soon  as  the  statue 
was  begun  for  itself,  and  with  no  reference  to  the  temple  or 
palace,  the  art  began  to  decline ;  freak,  extravagance,  and  ex 
hibition  took  the  place  of  the  old  temperance.  This  balance- 
wheel,  which  the  sculptor  found  in  architecture,  the  perilous 
irritability  of  poetic  talent  found  in  the  accumulated  dramatic 
materials  to  which  the  people  were  already  wonted,  and  which 
had  a  certain  excellence  which  no  single  genius,  however  ex 
traordinary,  could  hope  to  create. 

In  point  of  fact,  it  appears  that  Shakespeare  did  owe  debts  in 
all  directions,  and  was  able  to  use  whatever  he  found ;  and  the 
amount  of  indebtedness  may  be  inferred  from  Malone's  labori 
ous  computations  in  regard  to  the  First,  Second,  and  Third 
Parts  of  Henry  VI.,  in  which  "out  of  6043  lines,  1771  were 
written  by  some  author  preceding  Shakespeare  ;  2373  by  him, 
on  the  foundation  laid  by  his  predecessors;  and  1899  were  en 
tirely  his  own."  And  the  proceeding  investigation  hardly 
leaves  a  single  drama  of  his  absolute  invention.  Malone's  sen 
tence  is  an  important  piece  of  external  history.  In  Henry 
VII L,  I  think  I  see  plainly  the  cropping  out  of  the  original 
rock  on  which  his  own  finer  stratum  was  laid.  The  first  play 
was  written  by  a  superior,  thoughtful  man,  with  a  vicious  ear. 
I  can  mark  his  lines,  and  know  well  their  cadence.  See 
Wolsey's  soliloquy,  and  the  following  scene  with  Cromwell, 
where,  —  instead  of  the  metre  of  Shakespeare,  whose  secret  is, 
that  the  thought  constructs  the  tune,  so  that  reading  for  the 
sense  will  best  bring  out  the  rhythm,  —  here  the  lines  are  con 
structed  on  a  given  tune,  and  the  verse  has  even  a  trace  of 
pulpit  eloquence.  But  the  play  contains,  through  all  its  length, 
unmistakable  traits  of  Shakespeare's  hand,  and  some  passages, 
as  the  account  of  the  coronation,  are  like  autographs.  What 
is  odd,  the  compliment  >to  Queen  Elizabeth  is  in  the  bad 
rhythm. 

Shakespeare  knew  that  tradition  supplies  a  better  fable  than 
any  invention  can.  If  he  lost  any  credit  of  design,  he  aug 
mented  his  resources  ;  and,  at  that  day,  our  petulant  demand 
for  originality  was  not  so  much  pressed.  There  was  no  litera 
ture  for  the  million.  The  universal  reading,  the  cheap  press, 
were  unknown.  A  great  poet,  who  appears  in  illiterate  times, 
absorbs  into  his  sphere  all  the  light  which  is  anywhere  radiat 
ing.  Every  intellectual  jewel,  every  flower  of  sentiment,  it  is 
his  fine  office  to  bring  to  his  people  ;  and  he  comes  to  value  his 


SHAKESPEARE  ;    OR.   THE   POET.  107 

memory  equally  with  his  invention.  He  is  therefore  little  so 
licitous  whence  his  thoughts  have  been  derived  ;  whether 
through  translation,  \\  hether  through  tradition,  whether  l»y 
travel  in  distant  countries,  whether  l>y  inspiration;  from  what 
ever  source,  they  are  equally  welcome  to  his  uncritical  audi 
ence.  Nay,  he  borrows  very  near  home.  Other  men  say  wise 
things  as  well  as  he  ;  only  they  say  a  good  many  foolish  things, 
and  do  not  know  when  they  have  spoken  wisely.  He  knows 
the  sparkle  of  the  true  stone,  and  puts  it  in  high  place,  wher 
ever  he  tinds  it.  Such  is  the  happy  position  of  Homer,  per 
haps  ;  of  Chaucer,  of  Saadi.  They  felt  that  all  wit  was  their 
wit.  And  thev  are  librarians  and  historiographers,  as  well  as 
poets.  Each  romancer  was  heir  and  dispenser  of  all  the  hun 
dred  tales  of  the  world,  — 


^'  and  Pclops'  line 
And  the  tule  of  Troy  divine." 

The  influence  of  Chaucer  is  conspicuous  in  all  our  early  litera 
ture  ;  and,  more  recently,  not  only  Pope  and  Dryden  have  been 
beholden  to  him,  but,  in  the  whole  society  of  English  writers, 
a  large  unacknowledged  debt  is  easily  traced.  One  is  charmed 
with  the  opulence  which  feeds  so  many  pensioners.  But 
Chaucer  is  a  huge  borrower.  Chaucer,  it  seems,  drew  contin 
ually,  through  Ljdgate  and  <  'axtoii,  from  Guido  di  Colonna, 
whose  Latin  romance  of  the  Trojan  war  was  in  turn  a  compila 
tion  from  Dares  Phrvgius,  Ovid,  and  Statins.  Then  Petrarch, 
Boccaccio,  and  the  Provencal  poets,  are  his  benefactors  :  the 
Ivoinaunt  of  the  Rose  is  only  judicious  translation  from  William 
of  Lorris  and  John  of  Mcun  :  Troilus  and  Crcseide,  from  Lol- 
lius  of  Urbino  :  the  Cock  and  the  Fox,  from  the  fan's  of  Marie  : 
The  House  of  Fame,  from  the  French  or  Italian  :  and  poor 
Gower  he  uses  as  if  he  were  only  a  brick-kiln  or  stone-qunrry, 
out  of  which  to  build  his  house.  He  steals  by  this  apology, 
—  that  what  he  takes  has  no  worth  where  he  finds  it,  and  the 
great  i.'st  where  he  leaves  it.  It  has  come  to  be  practically  a 
sort  of  rule  in  literature,  that  a  man,  having  once  shown  him 
self  capable  of  original  writing,  is  entitled  thenceforth  to  steal 
from  the  writings  of  others  at  discretion.  Thought  is  the 
property  of  him  who  can  entertain  it  ;  and  of  him  who  can 
adequately  place  it.  A  certain  awkwardness  marks  the  use  of 
borrowed  thoughts  ;  but,  as  soon  as  we  have  learned  what  to 
do  with  them,  they  become  our  own. 

Thus,  all  originality  is  relative.     Every  thinker  is  retrospec 
tive.     The  learned  member  of  the  Legislature,  at  Westminster, 


108  KEPRESENTATIVE  MSN. 

or  at  Washington,  speaks  and  votes  for  thousands.  Show  iis 
the  constituency,  and  the  now  invisible  channels  by  which  the 
senator  is  made  aware  of  their  wishes,  the  crowd  of  practical 
and  knowing  men,  who,  by  correspondence  or  conversation,  are 
feeding  him  with  evidence,  anecdotes,  and  estimates,  and  it 
will  bereave  his  fine  attitude  and  resistance  of  something  of 
their  impressiveness.  As  Sir  Robert  Peel  and  Mr.  Webster 
vote,  so  Locke  and  Rousseau  think  for  thousands ;  and  so 
there  were  fountains  all  around  Homer,  Menu,  Saadi,  or  Milton, 
from  which  they  drew  ;  friends,  lovers,  books,  traditions,  prov 
erbs,  —  all  perished,  — which,  if  seen,  would  go  to  reduce  the 
wonder.  Did  the  bard  speak  with  authority  1  Did  he  feel 
himself  overmatched  by  any  companion  1  The  appeal  is  to  the 
consciousness  of  the  writer.  Is  there  at  least  in  his  breast  a 
Delphi  whereof  to  ask  concerning  any  thought  or  thing, 
whether  it  be  verily  so,  yea  or  nay  ?  and  to  have  answer,  and 
to  rely  on  that  1  All  the  debts  which  such  a  man  could  con 
tract  to  other  wit,  would  never  disturb  his  consciousness  of 
originality:  for  the  ministrations  of  books,  and  of  other  minds, 
are  a  whiff  of  smoke  to  that  most  private  reality  with  which 
he  has  conversed. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  what  is  best  written  or  done  by  genius, 
in  the  world,  was  no  man's  work,  but  came  by  wide  social 
labor,  when  a  thousand  wrought  like  one,  sharing  the  same 
impiilse.  Our  English  Bible  is  a  wonderful  specimen  of  the 
strength  and  music  of  the  English  language.  But  it  was  not 
made  by  one  man,  or  at  one  time ;  but  centuries  and  churches 
brought  it  to  perfection.  There  never  was  a  time  when  there 
was  not  some  translation  existing.  The  Liturgy,  admired  for 
its  energy  and  pathos,  is  an  anthology  of  the  piety  of  ages 
and  nations,  a  translation  of  the  prayers  and  forms  of  the 
Catholic  church,  —  these  collected,  too,  in  long  periods,  from 
the  prayers  and  meditations  of  every  saint  and  sacred  writer, 
all  over  the  world.  Grotius  makes  the  like  remark  in  respect 
to  the  Lord's  Prayer,  that  the  single  clauses  of  which  it  is 
composed  were  already  in  use,  in  the  time  of  Christ,  in  the 
rabbinical  forms.  He  picked  out  the  grains  of  gold.  The 
nervous  language  of  the  Common  Law,  the  impressive  forms 
of  our  courts,  and  the  precision  and  substantial  truth  of  the 
legal  distinctions,  are  the  contribution  of  all  the  sharp-sighted, 
strong-minded  men  who  have  lived  in  the  countries  where 
these  laws  govern.  The  translation  of  Plutarch  gets  its  ex 
cellence  by  being  translation  on  translation.  There  never  was 


SHAKESPEARE;    OR,    THE   POET. 

a  time  when  there  was  none.  All  the  truly  idiomatic  and 
national  phrases  are  kept,  and  all  others  successively  picked 
out.  and  thrown  away.  Something  like  the  same  process  had 
gone  on,  loinr  h.-tbiv,  with  the  originals  of  these  books.  The 
world  takes  liberties  with  world-books.  Vedas,  ^fSsop's  Fables, 
Pilpay,  Arabian  Nights,  Cid,  Iliad,  Robin  Hood,  Scottish 
Minstrelsy,  are  not  the  work  of  single  men.  In  the  com 
position  of  such  works,  the  time  thinks,  the  market  thinks, 
the  mason,  the  carpenter,  the  merchant,  the  farmer,  the  fop, 
all  think  for  us.  Every  book  supplies  its  time  with  one  good 
word  ;  every  municipal  law,  every  trade,  every  folly  of  the 
day,  and  the  generic  catholic  genius  who  is  not  afraid  or 
ashamed  to  owe  his  originality  to  the  originality  of  all,  stands 
with  the  next  age  as  the  recorder  and  embodiment  of  his  own. 
We  have  to  thank  the  researches  of  antiquaries,  and  the 
Shakespeare  Society,  for  ascertaining  the  steps  of  the  English 
drama,  from  the  Mysteries  celebrated  in  churches  and  by 
churchmen,  and  the  final  detachment  from  the  church,  and 
the  completion  of  secular  plays,  from  Ferrcx  and  Porrex,  and 
(Jammer  Gurton's  Needle,  down  to  the  possession  of  the  stage 
by  the  very  pieces  which  Shakespeare  altered,  remodelled,  and 
finally  made  his  own.  Elated  with  success,  and  piqued  by 
the  growing  interest  of  the  problem,  they  have  left  no  book 
stall  unscarehed,  no  chest  in  a  garret  unopened,  no  file  of  old 
yellow  accounts  to  decompose  in  damp  and  worms,  so  keen 
was  the  hope  to  discover  whether  the  boy  Shakespeare  poached 
or  not,  whether  he  held  horses  at  the  theatre  door,  whether  he 
kept  school,  and  why  he  left  in  his  will  only  his  second-best 
bed  to  Ann  Hathaway,  his  wife. 

There  is  somewhat  touching  in  the  madness  with  which  the 
ttg  airo  mischooses  the  object  on  which  all  candles  shine, 
and  all  eyes  are  turned  ;  the  care  with  whi.-h  it  registers  every 
tritlo   touching   Queen    Elizabeth,    and   King  James,  and  the 
ters,    Burlri'4-hs,  and    Buckinghams ;    and    lets 
without  a  sinirlc  valuable  note  the  founder  of  another 
dynasty,  which  alone  will  cause  the  Tudor  dynasty  to  be  re 
ared, —  the  man  who  carries  the  Saxon  race  in  him  by 
the  inspiration  which  feeds  him,  and  on  whose  thoughts  the 
foremost  people  of  the   world   are  now  for  some  ages  to  be 
nourished,  and  minds  to  receive  this  and  not  another  bia-. 
popular  player, — nobody  suspected  he  was  the   poet  of  the 
human  race  ;  and  the  secret  was  kept  as  faithfullv  from  poets 
and  intellectual  men,  as  from  courtiers  and  frivolous  people. 


110  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

Bacon,  who  took  the  inventory  of  the  human  understanding 
for  his  times,  never  mentioned  his  name.  Ben  Jonson,  though 
we  have  strained  his  few  words  of  regard  and  panegyric,  had 
no  suspicion  of  the  elastic  fame  whose  first  vibrations  he  was 
attempting.  He  no  doubt  thought  the  praise  he  has  conceded 
to  him  generous,  and  esteemed  himself,  out  of  all  question,  the 
better  poet  of  the  two. 

If  it  need  wit  to  know  wit,  according  to  the  proverb, 
Shakespeare's  time  should  be  capable  of  recognizing  it.  Sir 
Henry  Wotton  was  born  four  years  after  Shakespeare,  and 
died  twenty-three  years  after  him ;  and  I  find,  among  his  cor 
respondents  and  acquaintances,  the  following  persons  :  Theo 
dore  Beza,  Isaac  Casaubon,  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  Earl  of  Essex, 
Lord  Bacon,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  John  Milton,  Sir  Henry  Vane, 
Isaac  Walton,  Dr.  Donne,  Abraham  Cowley,  Bellarmine,  Charles 
Cotton,  John  Pym,  John  Hales,  Kepler,  Vieta,  Albericus  Gen- 
tilis,  Paul  Sarpi,  Arminius ;  with  all  of  whom  exists  some 
token  of  his  having  communicated,  without  enumerating  many 
others,  whom  doubtless  he  saw,  —  Shakespeare,  Spenser,  Jon- 
son,  Beaumont,  Massinger,  two  Herberts,  Marlow,  Chapman, 
and  the  rest.  Since  the  constellation  of  great  men  who  ap 
peared  in  Greece  in  the  time  of  Pericles,  there  was  never  any 
such  society ;  yet  their  genius  failed  them  to  find  out  the  best 
head  in  the  universe.  Our  poet's  mask  was  impenetrable. 
You  cannot  see  the  mountain  near.  It  took  a  century  to 
make  it  suspected ;  and  not  until  two  centuries  had  passed, 
after  his  death,  did  any  criticism  which  we  think  adequate 
begin  to  appear.  It  was  not  possible  to  write  the  history  of 
Shakespeare  till  now ;  for  he  is  the  father  of  German  litera 
ture  :  it  was  on  the  introduction  of  Shakespeare  into  German, 
by  Lessing,  and  the  translation  of  his  works  by  Wieland  and 
Schlegel,  that  the  rapid  burst  of  German  literature  was  most 
intimately  connected.  It  was  not  until  the  nineteenth  cen 
tury,  whose  speculative  genius  is  a  sort  of  living  Hamlet,  that 
the  tragedy  of  Hamlet  could  find  such  wondering  readers. 
Now,  literature,  philosophy,  and  thought  are  Shakespearized. 
His  mind  is  the  horizon  beyond  which,  at  present,  we  do  not 
see.  Our  ears  are  educated  to  music  by  his  rhythm.  Cole 
ridge  and  Goethe  are  the  only  critics  who  have  expressed  our 
convictions  with  any  adequate  fidelity ;  but  there  is  in  all 
cultivated  minds  a  silent  appreciation  of  his  superlative, power 
and  beauty,  which,  like  Christianity,  qualifies  the  period. 

The  Shakespeare  Society  have  inquired  in  all  directions,  ad- 


SHAKESPEARE;    OR,   THE   POET.  Ill 

vertised  tho  missing  facts,  oll'ercd  money  for  any  information 
that  \\ill  lead  to  proof;  and  with  what  result]  Beside  some 
important  illustration  of  tho  history  of  the  English  stage,  to 
which  1  have  adverted,  they  have  Cleaned  a  few  lacts  touching 
the  property,  and  dealings  in  regard  to  property,  of  the  poet. 
It  appears  that,  from  year  to  year,  he  owned  a  larger  share 
in  the  Blackfriars'  Theatre  :  its  wardrobe  and  other  appurte 
nances  were  his  :  that  he  bought  an  estate  in  his  native  vil 
lage,  with  his  earnings,  as  writer  and  shareholder;  that  he 
lived  in  the  best  house  in  Stratford  :  was  intrusted  by  his 
neighbors  with  their  commissions  in  London,  as  of  borrowing 
money,  and  the  like  ;  that  he  was  a  veritable  farmer.  About 
the  time  when  he  was  writing  Macbeth,  he  sues  Philip  Rogers, 
in  the  borough-court  of  Stratford,  for  thirty-five  shillings,  ten 
pence,  for  corn  delivered  to  him  at  different  times;  and,  in  all 
respects,  appears  as  a  good  husband,  with  no  reputation  for 
eccentricity  or  excess.  He  was  a  good-natured  sort  of  man, 
an  actor  and  shareholder  in  the  theatre,  not  in  any  striking 
manner  distinguished  from  other  actors  and  managers.  1  ad 
mit  the  importance  of  this  information.  It  was  well  worth 
the  pains  that  have  been  taken  to  procure  it. 

But  whatever  scraps  of  information  concerning  his  condition 
these  researches  may  have  rescued,  they  can  shed  no  light 
upon  that  infinite  invention  which  is  the  concealed  magnet  of 
his  attraction  for  us.  We  are  very  clumsy  writers  of  history. 
We  tell  the  chronicle  of  parentage,  birth,  birthplace,  school 
ing,  schoolmates,  earning  of  money,  marriage,  publication  of 
books,  celebrity,  death  ;  and  when  we  have  come  to  an  end  of 
this  gossip,  no  ray  of  relation  appears  between  it  and  the 
goddess-born  ;  and  it  seems  as  if,  had  we  dipped  at  random  in 
to  the  "Modern  Plutarch,"  and  read  any  other  life  there,  it 
would  have  fitted  the  poems  as  well.  It  is  the  essence  of 
poetry  to  spring,  like  the  rainbow  daughter  of  Wonder,  fn  in 
the  invisible,  to  abolish  the-  past,  and  refuse  all  history.  Ma- 
lone,  Warburton,  Dyce,  and  Collier  have  wasted  their  oil. 
The  famed  theatres,  Covent  (lardm,  Drury  Lane,  the  Park, 
and  Tremont.  have  vainly  a>.<;>tcd.  Bcttcrton,  Garrick,  Kem- 
ble.  Kean.  and  Macready  dedicate  their  lives  to  this  genius  ; 
him  th-'V  crown,  eludirate,  obey,  and  express.  The  genius 
knows  thnn  not.  The  recitation  begins  ;  one  golden  word 
leaps  out  Immortal  from  all  this  painted  pedantry,  and  sweetly 
torments  us  with  invitations  to  its  own  inaccessible  homes.  I 
remember,  I  went  once  to  see  the  Hamlet  of  a  famed  perform- 


112  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 

er,  the  pride  of  the  English  stage  ;  and  all  I  then  heard,  and 
all  I  now  remember,  of  the  tragedian,  was  that  in  which  the 
tragedian  had  no  part ;  simply,  Hamlet's  question  to  the 
ghost,  - 

"  What  may  this  mean, 

That  thou,  dead  corse,  again  in  complete  steel 
Revisit'st  thus  the  glimpses  of  the  moon?  " 

That  imagination  which  dilates  the  closet  he  writes  in  to  the 
world's  dimension,  crowds  it  with  agents  in  rank  and  order,  as 
quickly  reduces  the  big  reality  to  be  the  glimpses  of  the  moon. 
These  tricks  of  his  magic  spoil  for  us  the  illusions  of  the  green 
room.  Can  any  biography  shed  light  on  the  localities  into 
which  the  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  admits  me1?  Did 
Shakespeare  confide  to  any  notary  or  parish  recorder,  sacris 
tan,  or  surrogate,  in  Stratford,  the  genesis  of  that  delicate 
creation'?  The  forest  of  Arden,  the  nimble  air  of  Scone 
Castle,  the  moonlight  of  Portia's  villa,  "  the  antres  vast  and 
desarts  idle,"  of  Othello's  captivity,  —  where  is  the  third 
cousin,  or  grand-nephew,  the  chancellor's  file  of  accounts,  or 
private  letter,  that  has  kept  one  word  of  those  transcendent 
secrets  1  In  fine,  in  this  drama,  as  in  all  great  works  of  art, 
—  in  the  Cyclopsean  architecture  of  Egypt  and  India ;  in  the 
Phidian  sculpture ;  the  Gothic  minsters ;  the  Italian  paint 
ing  ;  the  Ballads  of  Spain  and  Scotland,  —  the  Genius  draws 
up  the  ladder  after  him,  when  the  creative  age  goes  up  to 
heaven,  and  gives  way  to  a  new  age,  which  sees  the  works, 
and  asks  in  vain  for  a  history. 

Shakespeare  is  the  only  biographer  of  Shakespeare  ;  and 
even  he  can  tell  nothing,  except  to  the  Shakespeare  in  us ;  that 
is,  to  our  most  apprehensive  and  sympathetic  hour.  He  can 
not  step  from  off  his  tripod,  and  give  us  anecdotes  of  his 
inspirations.  Read  the  antique  documents  extricated,  ana 
lyzed,  and  compared  by  the  assiduous  Dyce  and  Collier ;  and 
now  read  one  of  those  skyey  sentences,  —  aerolites,  —  which, 
seem  to  have  fallen  out  of  heaven,  and  which,  not  your  expe 
rience,  but  the  man  within  the  breast,  has  accepted  as  words 
of  fate ;  and  tell  me  if  they  match ;  if  the  former  account  in 
any  manner  for  the  latter  ;  or  which  gives  the  most  historical 
insight  into  the  man. 

Hence,  though  our  external  history  is  so  meagre,  yet,  with 
Shakespeare  for  biographer,  instead  of  Aubrey  and  Rowe,  we 
have  really  the  information  which  is  material,  that  which  de 
scribes  character  and  fortune,  that  which,  if  we  were  about  to 


SHAKESPEARE;    OK,    THE   POET.  113 

meet  the  man  and  deal  with  him,  would  most  import  us  to 
know.  We  have  his  recorded  convictions  on  those  questions 
which  knock  for  answer  ut  every  heart,  —  on  lite  and  death,  on 
love,  on  wealth  and  poverty,  on  the  prizes  of  life,  and  the  ways 
whcrehy  we  conic  at  them  ;  on  the  characters  of  men,  and  the 
influences,  occult  and  open,  which  affect  their  fortunes ;  and 
on  those  mysterious  and  demoniacal  powers  which  defy  our 
science,  and  which  yet  interweave  their  malice  and  their  gift  in 
our  brightest  hours.  Who  ever  read  the  volume  of  the  Son 
nets,  without  finding  that  the  poet  had  there  revealed,  under 
masks  that  are  no  masks  to  the  intelligent,  the  lore  of  friend 
ship  and  of  love  ;  the  confusion  of  sentiments  in  the  most  sus 
ceptible,  and,  at  the  same  time,  the  most  intellectual  of  men? 
"What  trait  of  his  private  mind  has  he  hidden  in  his  dramas? 
One  can  discern,  in  his  ample  pictures  of  the  gentleman  and 
the  king,  what  forms  and  humanities  pleased  him  ;  his  delight 
in  troops  of  friends,  in  large  hospitality,  in  cheerful  giving. 
Let  Tiinou,  let  Warwick,  let  Antonio  the  merchant,  answer  for 
his  great  heart.  So  far  from  Shakespeare's  being  the  least 
known,  he  is  the  one  person,  in  all  modern  history,  known  to  us. 
"What  point  of  morals,  of  manners,  of  economy,  of  philosophy, 
of  religion,  of  taste,  of  the  conduct  of  life,  has  he  not  settled  ? 
What  mystery  has  he  not  signified  his  knowledge  of  ?  What 
office,  or  function,  or  district  of  man's  work,  has  he  not  remem 
bered  ?  What  king  has  he  not  taught  state,  as  Talma  taught 
Napoleon?  What  maiden  has  not  found  him  finer  than  her 
delicacy?  "What  lover  has  he  not  outloved  ?  What  sage  has 
he  not  outseen  ?  What  gentleman  has  he  not  instructed  in 
the  rudeness  of  his  behavior  ! 

Some  able  and  appreciating  critics  think  no  criticism  on 
Shakespeare  valuable,  that  docs  not  rest  purely  on  the  dra 
matic  merit  :  that  he  is  falsely  judged  as  poet  and  philosopher. 
I  think  as  highly  as  these  critics  of  his  dramatic  merit,  but 
still  think  it  secondary.  He  was  a  full  man,  who  liked  to  talk  ; 
a  brain  exhaling  thoughts  and  imaires,  which,  seeking  vent,* 
found  the  •drama  next  at  hand.  Had  he  been  less,  we  should 
have  had  to  consider  how  well  he  filled  his  place,  how  good  a 
dramatist  he  was,  — and  he  is  the  best  in  the  world.  But  it 
t.urns  out,  that  what  he  has  to  say  is  of  that  weight  as  to 
withdraw  some  attention  from  the  vehicle  ;  and  he  is  like  some 
saint  whose  history  is  to  be  rendered  into  all  languages,  into 
verse  and  prose,  into  songs  and  pictures,  find  cut  up  into  prov 
erbs  ;  so  that  the  occasion  which  gave  the  saint's  meaning  the 


114  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

form  of  a  conversation,  or  of  a  prayer,  or  of  a  code  of  laws,  is 
immaterial,  compared  with  the  universality  of  its  application. 
So  it  fares  with  the  wise  Shakespeare  and  his  book  of  life.  He 
wrote  the  airs  for  all  our  modern  music  :  he  wrote  the  text  of 
modern  life  ;  the  text  of  manners  :  he  drew  the  man  of  Eng 
land  and  Europe  ;  the  father  of  the  man  in  America  :  he  drew 
the  man,  and  described  the  day,  and  what  is  done  in  it ;  he 
read  the  hearts  of  men  and  women,  their  probity,  and  their 
second  thought,  and  wiles ;  the  wiles  of  innocence,  and  the 
transitions  by  which  virtues  and  vices  slide  into  their  contraries  : 
he  could  divide  the  mother's  part  from  the  father's  part  in  the 
face  of  the  child,  or  draw  the  fine  demarcations  of  freedom  and 
of  fate  :  he  knew  the  laws  of  repression  which  make  the  police 
of  nature  :  and  all  the  sweets  and  all  the  terrors  of  human  lot 
lay  in  his  mind  as  truly  but  as  softly  as  the  landscape  lies  on 
the  eye.  And  the  importance  of  this  wisdom  of  life  sinks  the 
form,  as  of  Drama  or  Epic,  out  of  notice.  'T  is  like  making  a 
question  concerning  the  paper  on  which  a  king's  message  is 
written. 

Shakespeare  is  as  much  out  of  the  category  of  eminent  au 
thors,  as  he  is  out  of  the  crowd.  He  is  inconceivably  wise  ; 
the  others,  conceivably.  A  good  reader  can,  in  a  sort,  nestle 
into  Plato's  brain,  and  think  from  thence  ;  but  not  into  Shake 
speare's.  We  are  still  out  of  doors.  For  executive  faculty, 
for  creation,  Shakespeare  is  unique.  No  man  can  imagine  it 
better.  He  was  the  furthest  reach  of  subtlety  compatible 
with  an  individual  self,  —  the  subtilest  of  authors,  and  only 
just  within  the  possibility  of  authorship.  With  this  wisdom 
of  life,  is  the  equal  endowment  of  imaginative  and  of  lyric 
power.  He  clothed  the  creatures  of  his  legend  with  form  and 
sentiments,  as  if  they  were  people  who  had  lived  under  his  roof ; 
and  few  real  men  have  left  such  distinct  characters  as  these 
fictions.  And  they  spoke  in  language  as  sweet  as  it  was  fit. 
Yet  his  talents  never  seduced  him  into  an  ostentation,  nor  did 
he  harp  on  one  string.  An  omnipresent  humanity  co-ordi 
nates  all  his  faculties.  Give  a  man  of  talents  a  story  to  tell, 
and  his  partiality  will  presently  appear.  He  has  certain  ob 
servations,  opinions,  topics,  which  have  some  accidental  promi 
nence,  and  which  he  disposes  all  to  exhibit.  He  crams  this 
part,  and  starves  that  other  part,  consulting  not  the  fitness  of 
the  thing,  but  his  fitness  and  strength.  But  Shakespeare  has 
no  peculiarity,  no  importunate  topic  ;  but  all  is  duly  given  ;  no 
veins,  no  curiosities  :  no  cow-painter,  no  bird-fancier,  no  man- 


SHAKESPEARE;    OR,   THE  POET.  115 

nerist  is  he  ;  he  has  no  discoverable  egotism  :  the  great  he  tells 
greatly;  the  small.  subordinately.  He  is  wise  wit  limit  empha 
sis  or  assertion  ;  he  is  strong,  as  nature  is  strong,  who  lifts  the 
land  into  mountain  slopes  \vithontettbrt,  and  by  the  same  rule 
as  she  lli Mis  a  bubble  in  the  air,  and  likes  as  well  to  do  the 
one  as  the  other.  This  makes  that  equality  of  power  in  farce, 
traced v,  narrative,  and  love-songs  ;  a  merit  so  incessant,  that 
each  reader  is  ineredulous  of  the  perception  of  other  readers. 

This  power  of  expression,  or  of  transferring  the  inmost  truth 
of  things  into  music  and  verse,  makes  him  the  type  of  the  poet, 
and  has  added  a  new  problem  to  metaphysics.  This  is  that 
which  throws  him  into  natural  history,  as  a  main  production 
of  the  globe,  and  as  announcing  new  eras  and  ameliorations. 
Things  were  mirrored  in  his  poetry  without  loss  or  blur ;  he 
could  paint  the  fine  with  precision,  the  great  with  compass  ; 
the  tragic  and  the  comic  indifferently,  and  without  any  distor 
tion  or  favor.  He  carried  his  powerful  execution  into  minute 
details,  to  a  hair  point;  finishes  an  eyelash  or  a  dimple  as 
firmly  as  he  draws  a  mountain  ;  and  yet  these,  like  nature's, 
will  bear  the  scrutiny  of  the  solar  microscope. 

In  short,  he  is  the  chief  example  to  prove  that  more  or  less 
of  production,  more  or  fewer  pictures,  is  a  thing  indifferent. 
He  had  the  power  to  make  one  picture.  Daguerre  learned 
ho\\-  to  let  one  flower  etch  its  image  on  his  plate  of  iodine  ; 
and  then  proceeds  at  leisure  to  etch  a  million.  There  are  al 
ways  objects ;  but  there  was  never  representation.  Here  is 
perfect  representation,  at  last  ;  and  now  let  the  world  of  fig- 
uivs  sit  for  their  portraits.  No  recipe  can  be  given  for  the 
making  of  a  Shakespeare  ;  but  the  possibility  of  the  translation 
of  things  into  song  is  demonstrated. 

His  lyric  power  lies  in  the  genius  of  the  piece.  The  sonnets, 
though  their  excellence  is  lost  in  the  splendor  of  the  dramas, 
are  as  inimitable  as  they  :  and  it  is  not  a  merit  of  lines,  but  a 
total  merit  of  the  piece  ;  like  the  tone  of  voice  of  some  incom 
parable  pei-son,  so  is  this  a  speech  of  poetic  beings,  and  any 
clause  as  unproducible  now  as  a  whole  poem. 

Though  the  speeches  in  the  plays,  and  single  lines,  have  a 
beauty  which  tempts  the  ear  to  pause  on  them  for  their  en phu- 
ism,  yet  the  sentence  is  so  lo.uled  with  meaning,  and  so  linked 
with  its  foregoc-rs  and  followers,  that  the  logician  is  satisfied. 
His  means  are  as  admirable  as  his  cuds  ;  cvcrv  subordinate  in 
vention,  by  which  lie  helps  himself  to  Connect  some  irrecon 
cilable  opposites,  is  a  poem  too.  He  is  nut  reduced  to  dis- 


116  REPIIESENTATIVE  MEN. 

mount  and  walk,  because  his  horses  are  running  off  with  him 
in  some  distant  direction  :  he  always  rides. 

The  finest  poetry  was  first  expedience  :  but  the  thought  has 
suffered  a  transformation  since  it  was  an  experience.  Culti 
vated  men  often  attain  a  good  degree  of  skill  in  writing  verses  ; 
but  it  is  easy  to  read,  through  their  poems,  their  personal  his 
tory  :  any  one  acquainted  with  parties  can  name  every  figure  : 
this  is  Andrew,  and  that  is  Rachel.  The  sense  thus  remains 
prosaic.  It  is  a  caterpillar  with  wings,  and  not  yet  a  butter 
fly.  In  the  poet's  mind,  the  fact  has  gone  quite  over  into  the 
new  element  of  thought,  and  has  lost  all  that  is  exuvial.  This 
generosity  abides  with  Shakespeare.  We  say,  from  the  truth 
and  closeness  of  his  pictures,  that  he  knows  the  lesson  by 
heart.  Yet  there  is  not  a  trace  of  egotism. 

One  more  royal  trait  properly  belongs  to  the  poet.  I  mean 
his  cheerfulness,  without  which  no  man  can  be  a  poet,  —  for 
beauty  is  his  aim.  He  loves  virtue,  not  for  its  obligation,  but 
for  its  grace  :  he  delights  in  the  world,  in  man,  in  woman,  for 
the  lovely  light  that  sparkles  from  them.  Beauty,  the  spirit 
of  joy  and  hilarity,  he  sheds  over  the  universe.  Epicurus  re 
lates,  that  poetry  hath  such  charms  that  a  lover  might  forsake 
his  mistress  to  partake  of  them.  And  the  true  bards  have 
been  noted  for  their  firm  and  cheerful  temper.  Homer  lies  in 
sunshine  ;  Chaucer  is  glad  and  erect ;  and  Saadi  says,  "  It 
was  rumored  abroad  that  I  was  penitent ;  but  what  had  I  to 
do  with  repentance  1 "  Not  less  sovereign  and  cheerful,  — 
much  more  sovereign  and  cheerful,  is  the  tone  of  Shakespeare. 
His  name  suggests  joy  and  emancipation  to  the  heart  of  men. 
If  he  should  appear  in  any  company  of  human  souls,  who 
would  not  march  in  his  troop1?  He  touches  nothing  that 
does  not  borrow  health  and  longevity  from  his  festal  style. 

And  now,  how  stands  the  account  of  man  with  this  bard 
and  benefactor,  when  in  solitude,  shutting  our  ears  to  the  re 
verberations  of  his  fame,  we  seek  to  strike  the  balance  1  Soli 
tude  has  austere  lessons  ;  it  can  teach  us  to  spare  both  heroes 
and  poets  ;  and  it  weighs  Shakespeare  also,  and  finds  him  to 
share  the  halfness  and  imperfection  of  humanity. 

Shakespeare,  Homer,  Dante,  Chaucer,  saw  the  splendor  of 
meaning  that  plays  over  the  visible  world ;  knew  that  a  tree 
had  another  use  than  for  apples,  and  corn  another  than  for 
meal,  and  the  ball  of  the  earth,  than  for  tillage  and  roads  : 
that  these  things  bore  a  second  and  finer  harvest  to  the  mind, 


SIIAKKSrKAKK  ;    OR,   THE   POET  117 

being  emblems  of  its  thoughts,  and  conveying  in  all  their 
natural  history  a  certain  mute  commentary  on  human  life. 
Shakespeare  < •mployed  them  as  colors  to  compose  his  picture. 
He  ivsted  in  their  beauty;  and  never  took  the  step  which 
seemed  inevitable  to  such  genius,  namely,  to  explore  (lie  virtue 
which  resides  in  thr.M-  >ymh«>ls,  and  imparts  this  power,— 
what  is  that  which  they  themselves  say  f  He  converted  the 
elements,  which  waited  on  his  command,  into  entertainments, 
lie  uas  master  of  the  revels  to  mankind.  Is  it  not  as  if  one 
should  have,  through  majestic  powers  of  science,  the  comets 
given  into  his  hand,  or  the  planets  and  their  moons,  and  should 
draw  them  from  their  orbits  to  glare  with  the  municipal  fire 
works  on  a  holiday  night,  and  advertise  in  all  towns,  "  very 
superior  pyrotechny  this  evening  !  "  Are  the  agents  of  nature, 
and  the  power  to  understand  them,  worth  no  more  than  a 
street  serenade,  or  the  breath  of  a  cigar  1  One  remembers 
again  the  trumpet-text  in  the  Koran,  —  "  The  heavens  and  the 
earth,  and  all  that  is  between  them,  think  ye  we  have  created 
them  in  jest1?"  As  long  us  the  question  is  of  talent  and  mental 
power,  the  world  of  men  has  not  his  equal  to  show.  But  when 
the  question  is  to  life,  and  its  materials,  and  its  auxiliaries, 
how  does  he  profit  me  ?  "What  does  it  signify  ]  It  is  but  a 
Twelfth  Night,  or  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  or  a  Winter 
Evening's  Tale  :  what  signifies  another  picture  more  or  less] 
The  Egyptian  verdict  of  the  Shakespeare  Societies  comes  to 
mind,  that  he  was  a  jovial  actor  and  manager.  I  cannot 
marry  this  fact  to  his  verse.  Other  admirable,  men  have  led 
lives  in  some  sort  of  keeping  with  their  thought  :  but  this 
man,  in  wide  contrast.  Had  he  been  less,  had  he  reached  only 
the  common  measure  of  great  authors,  of  Bacon,  Milton,  Tasso, 
Cervantes,  we  might  leav.  the  fact  in  the  twilight  of  human 
fate  :  but,  that  this  m;ui  of  men,  he  who  gave  to  the  science 
of  mind  a  new  and  larger  subject  than  had  ever  existed,  and 
planted  the  standard  of  humanity  some  furlongs  forward  into 
Chaos,  —  that  he  should  not  be  wise  for  himself,  —  it  must  even 
go  into  the  world's  history,  that  the  best  poet  led  an  obscure 
and  profane  life,  using  his  genius  for  the  public  amusement. 

Well,  other  men,  priest  and  prophet;  Israelite,  (Jerman,  and 
Swede,  beheld  the  same  objects  :  they  also  saw  through  them 
that  which  was  contained.  And  to  what  purpose  ?  The 
beauty  straightway  vanished  ;  they  read  commandments,  all- 
excludinu'  mountainous  duty;  an  obligation,  a  sadness,  as  of 
piled  mountains,  fell  oil  them,  and  life  became  ghastly,  joyless, 


118  KEPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 

a  pilgrim's  progress,  a  probation,  beleaguered  round  with  dole 
ful  histories  of  Adam's  fall  and  curse,  behind  us ;  with  dooms 
days  and  purgatorial  and  penal  fires  before  us  ;  and  the  heart 
of  the  seer  and  the  heart  of  the  listener  sank  in  them. 

It  must  be  conceded  that  these  are  half-views  of  half-men. 
The  world  still  wants  its  poet-priest,  a  reconciler,  who  shall 
not  trifle  with  Shakespeare  the  player,  nor  shall  grope  in 
graves  with  Swedenborg  the  mourner;  but  who  shall  see, 
speak,  and  act,  with  equal  inspiration.  For  knowledge  will 
brighten  the  sunshine  ;  right  is  more  beautiful  than  private 
affection ;  and  love  is  compatible  with  universal  wisdom. 


VI. 

NAPOLEON;    OR,   THE    MAN   OF 
THE   WORLD. 


• 


UNIVERSITY' 


'iJ 


NAPOLEON;   OR,  THE  MAN   OF  THE 
WORLD. 


AMONG  the  eminent  persons  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
Honaparte  is  far  the  best  known,  and  the  most  power 
ful  ;  and  owes  his  predominance  to  the  fidelity  with  which 
IK-  expresses  the  tone  of  thought  and  belief,"  the  aims  of 
the  masses  of  active  and  cultivated  men.  It  is  Swedenborg's 
theory,  that  every  organ  is  made  up  of  homogeneous  particles; 
or,  as  it  is  Hum-times  expressed,  every  whole  is  made  of  simi 
lars  ;  that  is,  the  lungs  are  composed  of  infinitely  small  lungs ; 
the  liver,  of  infinitely  small  livers;  the  kidney,  of  little  kid 
neys,  <tc.  Following  this  analogy,  if  any  man  is  found  to 
carry  with  him  the  power  and  aiiections  of  vast  numbers,  if 
Napoleon  is  France,  if  Napoleon  is  Europe,  it  is  because  the 
people  whom  he  sways  are  little  Napoleons. 

In  our  society,  there  is  a  standing  antagonism  between  the 
conservative  and  the  democratic  classes;  between  those  who 
have  made  their  fortunes,  and  the  young  and  the  poor  who 
have  fortunes  to  make:  between  the  interests  of  dead  labor, 
—  that  is,  the  labor  of  hands  lonur  ago  still  in  the  grave, 
which  labor  is  now  entombed  in  money  stocks,  or  in  land  and 
buildings  owned  by  idle  capitalists,-  and  the  interests  of  liv 
ing  labor,  which  seeks  t<>  itself  of  land,  and  buildings, 
and  money  stocks.  The  first,  class  is  timid,  selfish,  illiberal, 
hating  innovation,  and  continually  losing  numbers  by  death. 
The  second  class  is  selti<h  al«>.  encroaching,  bold,  sell-relying, 
always  outnumbering  the  other,  and  recruiting  its  numbers 
every  hour  by  births.  It  desire*  to  keep  open  every  avenue 
to  the  Competition  of  all,  and  to  multii.lv  avenues; — the  class 
of  business  men  in  America,  in  Kimland,  in  France,  and 
throughout  Europe  ;  the  class  of  industry  and  skill.  Na 
poleon  is  its  representative.  The  instinct  of  active,  brave, 

VOL.  n.  .  6 


122  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 

able  men,  throughout  the  middle  class  everywhere,  has  point 
ed  ont  Napoleon  as  the  incarnate  Democrat.  He  had  their 
virtues  and  their  vices ;  above  all,  he  had  their  spirit  or  aim. 
That  tendency  is  material,  pointing  at  a  sensual  success,  and 
employing  the  richest  and  most  various  means  to  that  end  ; 
conversant  with  mechanical  powers,  highly  intellectual,  wide 
ly  and  accurately  learned  and  skilful,  but  subordinating  ail 
intellectual  and  spiritual  forces  into  means  to  a  material  suc 
cess.  To  be  the  rich  man,  is  the  end.  "  God  has  granted^ 
says  the  Koran,  "  to  every  people  a  prophet  in  its  own  tongue. 
Paris,  and  London,  and  New  York,  the  spirit  of  commerce,  of 
money,  and  material  power,  were  also  to  have  their  prophet ; 
and  Bonaparte  was  qualified  and  sent. 

Every  one  of  the  million  readers  of  anecdotes,  or  memoirs, 
or  lives  of  Napoleon,  delights  in  the  page,  because  he  studies 
in  it  his  own  history.  Napoleon  is  thoroughly  modern,  and, 
at  the  highest  point  of  his  fortunes,  has  the  very  spirit  of  the 
newspapers.  He  is  no  saint,— to  use  his  own  word,  "no 
capuchin,"  and  he  is  no  hero,  in  the  high  sense.  The  man  m 
the  street  finds  in  him  the  qualities  and  powers  of  other  men 
in  the  street.  He  finds  him,  like  himself,  by  birth  a  citizen, 
who  by  very  intelligible  merits,  arrived  at  such  a  commaiid- 
inor  position,  that  he  could  indulge  all  those  tastes  which  the 
common  man  possesses,  but  is  obliged  to  conceal  and  deny  : 
good  society,  good  books,  fast  travelling,  dress,  dinners,  ser 
vants  without  number,  personal  weight,  the  execution  of  his 
ideas,  the  standing  in  the  attitude  of  a  benefactor  to  all  per 
sons  about  him,  the  refined  enjoyments  of  pictures,  statues, 
music,  palaces,  and  conventional  honors,  —  precisely  what  is 
agreeable  to  the  heart  of  every  man  in  the  nineteenth  century, 
—  this  powerful  man  possessed. 

It  is  true  that  a  man  of  Napoleon's  truth  of  adaptation  t< 
the  mind  of  the  masses  around  him,  becomes  not  merely 
representative,  but  actually  a  monopolizer  and  usurper  of 
other  minds.  Thus  Mirabeau  plagiarized  every  good  thought, 
every  good  word,  that  was  spoken  in  France.  Dumont  re 
lates,  that  he  sat  in  the  gallery  of  the  Convention,  and  heard 
Mirabeau  make  a  speech.  It  struck  Dumont  that  he  could  fit 
it  with  a  peroration,  which  he  wrote  in  pencil  immediately, 
and  showed  it  .to  Lord  Elgin,  who  sat  by  him.  Lord  Elgin  ap 
proved  it,  and  Dumont,  in  the  evening,  showed  it  to  Mirabeau. 
Mirabeau  read  it,  pronounced  it  admirable,  and  declared  he 
would  incorporate  it  into  his  harangue  to-morrow,  to  the  As- 


NAPOLEON;    OR,    TIIK    MAX    0V   TIIK    WORLD.  123 

scmbly.  "  It  is  impossible,"  said  Dumont,  "  as,  unfortunately, 
I  have  shown  it  to  Lord  Klgin."  "  If  you  have  shown  it  to 
Lord  Klgin,  and  to  fifty  persons  beside,  I  shall  still  speak  it  to 
morrow"  :  and  he  did  speak  it,  with  much  effect,  at  the  next 
day's  session.  For  Mirabeau.  with  his  overpowering  pcrson- 
ality,  felt  that  these  things,  which  his  presence  inspired,  were 
as  much  his  own  as  if  lie  had  said  them,  and  that  his  adop 
tion  of  them  gave  them  their  weight.  Much  more  absolute 
and  centralizing  was  the  successor  to  Mirabeau's  popularity, 
and  to  much  more  than  his  predominance  in  F  ranee.  Indeed, 
a  man  of  Napoleon's  stamp  almost  ceases  to  have  a  private 
speech  and  opinion.  He  is  so  largely  receptive,  and  is  so 
placed,  that  he  comes  to  be  a  bureau  for  all  the  intelligence, 
wit,  and  power,  of  the  age  and  country.  He  gains  the  battle  ; 
he  makes  the  code  ;  he  makes  the  system  of  weights  and 
measures  ;  he  levels  the  Alps ;  he  builds  the  road.  All  dis 
tinguished  engineers,  savans,  statists,  report  to  him  :  so,  like 
wise,  do  all  good  heads  in  every  kind:  he  adopts  the  best 
measures,  sets  his  stamp  on  them,  and  not  these  alone,  but  on 
every  happy  and  memorable  expression.  Every  sentence 
spoken  by  Napoleon,  and  every  line  of  his  writing,  deserves 
reading,  as  it  is  the  sense  of  France. 

Bonaparte  was  the  idol  of  common  men,  because  he  had  in 
transcendent  degree  the  qualities  and  powers  of  common  men. 
There  is  a  certain  satisfaction  in  coming  down  to  the  lowest 
ground  of  politics,  for  we  get  rid  of  cant  and  hypocrisy. 
Bonaparte  wrought,  in  common  with  that  great  class  he  repre 
sented,  for  power  and  wealth,  —  but  Bonaparte,  specially,  with 
out  any  scruple  as  to  the  means.  All  the  sentiments  which 
embarrass  men's  pursuit  of  these  objects,  he  set  aside.  The 
sentiments  were  for  women  and  children.  Fontanes,  in  Isnl, 
expressed  Napoleon's  own  sense,  when,  in  behalf  of  the  Sen 
ate,  he  addressed  him,  —  "  Sire,  the  desire  of  perfection  is  the 
worst  disease  that  ever  afflicted  the  human  mind/'  The  ad- 
s  of  liberty,  and  of  progress,  are  "ideologists";  —  a 
word  of  contempt  often  in  his  mouth;  — "  Necker  is  an 
ideologist":  "  Lafayette  is  an  ideologist.'' 

An  Italian  proverb,  too  well  known,  declares  that,  "  if  vou 
would  succeed,  you  must  not  be  too  Lfood."  It  is  an  adv:in- 
.vithin  certain  limits,  to  have  renounced  the  dominion  of 
the  sentiments  of  piety,  gratitude,  and  generosity  ;  since, 
what  was  an  impassable  bar  to  us,  and  still  is  to  others,  be 
comes  a  convenient  weapon  for  our  purposes  ;  just  as  the  river 


124:  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

which  was  a  formidable  barrier,  winter  transforms  into  the 
smoothest  of  roads.  . 

Napoleon  renounced,  once  for  all,  sentiments  and  affections, 
and  would  help  himself  with  his  hands  and  his  head,     \\ith 
him  is  no  miracle,  and  no  magic.     He  is  a  worker  in  brass,  in 
iron,  in  wood,  in  earth,  in  roads,  in  buildings,  in  money,  and 
in  troops,  and  a  very  consistent   and  wise  master-workman 
He  is  never  weak  and  literary,  but  acts  with  the  solidity  and 
the  precision  of  natural  agents.     He  has  not  lost  his  native 
sense  and  sympathy  with  things.     Men  give  way  before  such 
a  man   as  before   natural  events.     To  be  sure,  there  are  men 
enough   who   are    immersed   in   things,    as   farmers,    smiths 
sailors,  and  mechanics  generally  ;  and  we  know  how  real  t 
solid  such  men  appear  in  the  presence  of  scholars  and  gram 
marians  :  but  these  men  ordinarily  lack  the  power  of  arrange 
ment,  and  are  like  hands  without  a  head.     But  Bonaparte 
superadded  to  this  mineral  and  animal  force,  insight  and  gen 
eralization.  so  that  men  saw  in  him  combined  the  natural  and  the 
intellectual  power,  as  if  the  sea  and  land  had  taken  flesh  and  be- 
cim  to  cipher.     Therefore  the  land  and  sea  seem  to  presuppose 
him      He  came  unto  his  own  and  they  received  him.      11ns  ci- 
pherino-  operative  knows  what  he  is  working  with,  and  what  is 
the  product.      He  knew  the  properties   of  gold   and   iron   of 
wheels  and  ships,  of  troops  and  diplomatists,  and  required  that 
each  should  do  after  its  kind. 

The  art  of  war  was  the  game  in  which  he  exerted  his  arith 
metic.  It  consisted,  according  to  him,  in  having  always  more 
forces  than  the  enemy,  on  the  point  where  the  enemy  is  at 
tacked,  or  where  he  attacks  ;  and  his  whole  talent  is  strained 
bv  endless  manoeuvre  and  evolution  to  march  always  on  the 
enemv  at  an  amrle,  and  destroy  his  forces  m  detail. 
vlus'that  a  very  small  force,  skilfully  and  rapidly  man.u  vring 
so  as  always  to  bring  two  men  against  one  at  the  point  ot 
engagement,  will  be  a°n  overmatch  for  a  much  larger  body  of 


times,  his  constitution,   and  his  early 

had   the 


, 

combined   to  develop  this   pattern   democrat. 
virtues  of  his  class,  and  the  conditions  for  their  activity. 
common  sense,  which  no  sooner  respects  any  end,  than 
the  means  to  effect  it;  the  delight  m  the  use  of  mean  ^m 
the  choice,  simplification,  and  combining  of  means  ;  th  >  dnect 
ness  and  thoroughness  of  his  work;  the  prudence  with  which 
all  was  seen,  and  the  energy  with  which  all  was  done,  make 


on,  TIIK  MAX  OF  THE  WORLD.         125 

him  the  natural  or_ran  and  head  of  what  I  may  almost  call, 
from  its  extent,  tin-  modern  party. 

Nature  must  have1  far  tin1  Lrreatest  share  in  cverv  success, 
ami  so  in  his.  Such  a  man  was  wanted,  and  such  a  man  was 
horn  :  a  man  of  stone  and  iron,  capable  of  sitting  on  horse 
back  sixteen  <>r  seventeen  hours,  of  going  many  days  together 
without  rest  or  food,  except  by  snatches,  and  with  the  speed 
and  spring  of  a  tiger  in  action  ;  a  man  not  embarrassed  by 
anv  scruples  ;  compact,  instant,  selfish,  prudent,  and  of  a  per 
ception  which  did  not  sutler  itself  to  be  balked  or  misled  by 
any  pretences  of  others,  or  any  superstition,  or  any  heat  or 
haste  of  his  own.  "  My  hand  of  iron,"  he  said,  "  was  not  at 
the  extremity  of  my  arm  ;  it  was  immediately  connected  with 
my  head."  He  respected  the  power  of  nature  and  fortune, 
and  ascribed  it  to  his  superiority,  instead  of  valuing  himself, 
like  inferior  men,  on  his  opinionativeness.  and  waging  war  with 
nature.  His  favorite  rhetoric!  lay  in  allusion  to  his  star:  and 
he  pleased  himself,  as  well  as  the  people,  when  he  sf  vl<-d  him- 
eolf  the  "Child  of  Destiny."  "They  charge  me,''  he  said, 
"with  the  commission  of  great  crimes:  men  of  my  stamp  do 
not  commit  crimes.  Nothing  has  been  more  simple  than  my 
elevation:  't  is  in  vain  to  ascribe  it  to  intrigue  or  crime  :  it 
•\-ing  to  the  peculiarity  of  the  times,  and  to  my  reputa 
tion  of  having  foiurht  well  against  the  enemies  of  my  country. 
I  have  always  marched  with  the  opinion  of  great  masses,  and 
with  events.  Of  what  use,  then,  would  crimes  be  to  me  I " 
Again  he  said,  speaking  of  his  son  :  "  My  son  cannot  replace 
me  :  I  could  not  replace  myself.  I  am  the  creature  of  circum 
stances." 

He  had  a  directness  of  action  never  before  combined  with 
so  much  comprehension.  He  is  a  realist  terrific  to  all  talkers, 
and  confused  truth-obscuring  persons.  He  sees  where  the 
matter  hinges,  throws  himself  on  the  precise  point  of  resist- 
and  slights  all  other  considerations.  He  is  strong  in  the 
riyrht  manner,  namely,  by  insight.  He  never  blundered  into 
victory,  but  won  his  battles  in  his  head,  before  he  won  them 
on  the  field.  His  principal  means  are  in  himself.  He  asks 
counsel  of  no  other.  In  179G,  he  writes  to  the  Directory  :  "  I 
have  conducted  the  campaign  without  consulting  anv  one.  I 
should  have  done  no  '_rood,  if  I  had  been  under  the  necessity 
of  conforming  to  the  notions  of  another  person.  1  !n\,-  Drained 
some  advanta<_:<  iperior  forces,  and  when  totally  desti 

tute  of  everything,  because,  in  the  persuasion  that  your  con- 


126  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 

fidence  was  reposed  in  me,  my  actions  were  as  prompt  as  my 
thoughts." 

History  is  full,  down  to  this  day,  of  the  imbecility  of  kings 
and  governors.  They  are  a  class  of  persons  much  to  be 
pitied,  for  they  know  not  what  they  should  do.  The  weavers 
strike  for  bread ;  and  the  king  and  his  ministers,  not  knowing 
what  to  do,  meet  them  with  bayonets.  But  Napoleon  under 
stood  his  business.  Here  was  a  man  who,  in  each  moment 
and  emergency,  knew  what  to  do  next.  It  is  an  immense 
comfort  and  refreshment  to  the  spirits,  not  only  of  kings,  but 
of  citizens.  Few  men  have  any  next ;  they  live  from  hand  to 
mouth,  without  plan,  and  are  ever  at  the  end  of  their  line, 
and,  after  each  action,  wait  for  an  impulse  from  abroad.  Na 
poleon  had  been  the  first  man  of  the  world,  if  his  ends  had 
been  purely  public.  As  he  is,  he  inspires  confidence  and  vigor 
by  the  extraordinary  unity  of  his  action.  He  is  firm,  sure, 
self-denying,  self-postponing,  sacrificing  everything  to  his  aim, 
—  money,  troops,  generals,  and  his  own  safety  also,  to  his 
aim ;  not  misled,  like  common  adventurers,  by  the  splendor 
of  his  own  means.  "  Incidents  ought  not  to  govern  policy," 
he  said,  "but  policy,  incidents."  "To  be  hurried  away  by 
every  event,  is  to  have  no  political  system  at  all."  His  vic 
tories  were  only  so  many  doors,  and  he  never  for  a  moment 
lost  sight  of  his  way  onward,  in  the  dazzle  and  uproar  of  the 
present  circumstance.  He  knew  what  to  do,  and  he  flew  to 
his  mark.  He  would  shorten  a  straight  line  to  come  at  his 
object.  Horrible  anecdotes  may,  no  doubt,  be  collected  from 
his  history,  of  the  price  at  which  he  bought  his  successes ; 
but  he  must  not  therefore  be  set  down  as  cruel ;  but  only  as 
one  who  knew  no  impediment  to  his  will ;  not  bloodthirsty, 
not  cruel,  —  but  woe  to  what  thing  or  person  stood  in  his 
way !  Not  bloodthirsty,  but  not  sparing  of  blood,  —  and 
pitiless.  He  saw  only  the  object :  the  obstacle  must  give  way. 
"  Sire,  General  Clarke  cannot  combine  with  General  Junot,  for 
the  dreadful  fire  of  the  Austrian  battery."  —  "  Let  him  carry 
the  battery."  —  "Sire,  every  regiment  that  approaches  the 
heavy  artillery  is  sacrificed  :  Sire,  what  orders  ] "  •  —  "  For 
ward,  forward  !  "  Seruzier,  a  colonel  of  artillery,  gives,  in  his 
Military  Memoirs,  the  following  sketch  of  a  scene  after  the 
battle  of  Austerlitz  :  "  At  the  moment  in  which  the  Russian 
army  was  making  its  retreat,  painfully,  but  in  good  order,  on 
the  ice  of  the  lake,  the  Emperor  Napoleon  came  riding  at  full 
speed  toward  the  artillery.  '  You  are  losing  time,'  he  cried ; 


NAPOLEON;    OR,    THE   MAX    OF   THE   WORLD.  127 

'fire  upon  those  masses;  they  must  be  ingulfed:  fire  upon 
the  itv  !  '  The  order  remained  unexecuted  for  ten  minutes. 
In  vain  several  otlicers  and  myself  were  placed  on  the  si";  -3 
of  a  hill  to  produce  the  ell'ect  :  their  halls  and  mine  rolled 
upon  the  ice,  without  breaking  it  up.  Seeing  that,  I  tried  a 
simple  method  of  elevating  light  howitzers.  The  almost  per 
pend  if,  ular  fall  of  the  heavy  projectiles  produced  the  desired 
etffft.  My  method  was  immediately  followed  by  the  adjoin 
ing  batteries,  and  in  less  than  no  time  we  buried"  some* 
"thousands  of  Russians  and  Austrians  under  the  waters  of 
the  lake/' 

In  the  plenitude  of  his  resources,  every  obstacle  seemed  to 
vanish.  "  There  shall  be  no  Alps,"  he  said  ;  and  he  built  his 
perfect  roads,  climbing  by  graded  galleries  their  steepest  preci 
pices,  until  Italy  was  as  open  to  Paris  as  any  town  in  France. 
He  laid  his  bones  to,  and  wrought  for  his  crown.  Having  de 
cided  what  was  to  be  done,  he  did  that  with  might  and  main. 
He  put  out  all  his  strength.  He  risked  everything,  and  spared 
nothing,  neither  ammunition,  nor  money,  nor  troops,  nor 
generals,  nor  himself. 

We  like  to  see  everything  do  its  office  after  its  kind,  whether 
it  be  a  milch-cow  or  a  rattle-snake  ;  and,  if  fighting  be  the 
best  mode  of  adjusting  national  differences  (as  hirge  majorities 
of  men  seem  to  agree),  certainly  Bonaparte  was  ri-ht  in  mak 
ing  it  thorough.  "  The  grand  principle  of  war,"  he  said,  "was, 
that  an  army  ought  always  to  be  ready,  by  day  and  by  night, 
and  at  all  hours,  to  make  all  the  resistance  it  is  capable  of 
making/'  He  never  economized  his  ammunition,  but,  on  a  hos 
tile  position,  rained  a  torrent  of  iron,  —  shells,  balls,  grape- 
shot,  —  to  annihilate  all  defence.  On  any  point  of  resistance, 
he  concentrated  squadron  on  squadron  in  overwhelming  num 
bers,  until  it  was  swept  out  of  existence.  To  a  regiment  of 
horse-chasseurs  at  Lobenstein,  two  days  before  the  battle  of 
Jena,  Napoleon  said  :  "  My  lads,  you  must  not  fear  death  ; 
when  soldiers  brave  death,  they  drive  him  into  the  enemy's 
ranks/1  In  the  fury  of  assault,  he  no  more  spared  himself. 
He  went  to  the  edge  of  his  possibility.  It  is  plain  that  in  Ita 
ly  he  did  what  he  could,  and  all  that  he  could.  He  came,  sev 
eral  times,  within  an  inch  of  ruin  ;  and  his  own  person  was  all 
but  lost.  He  was  Hung  into  the  marsh  at  Arcola.  The  Aus- 
trians  were  between  him  and  his  troops,  in  the  melee,  and  he 

*  A-  I  quote  at  second-hand,  and  cannot  procure  Seruzier,  I  dare  not  adopt 
the  high  figure  I  tind. 


128  REPKESENTATIVE    MEN. 

was  brought  off  with  desperate  efforts.  At  Lonato,  and  at 
other  places,  he  was  on  the  point  of  being  taken  prisoner.  He 
fought  sixty  battles.  He  had  never  enough.  Each  victory 
was  a  new  weapon.  "  My  power  would  fall,  were  I  not  to 
support  it  •  by  new  achievements.  Conquest  has  made  me 
what  I  am,  and  conquest  must  maintain  me."  He  felt,  with 
every  wise  man,  that  as  much  life  is  needed  for  conservation, 
as  for  creation.  We  are  always  in  peril,  always  in  a  bad 
plight,  just  on  the  edge  of  destruction,  and  only  to  be  saved 
by  invention  and  courage. 

This  vigor  was  guarded  and  tempered  by  the  coldest  prudence 
and  punctuality.  A  thunderbolt  in  the  attack,  he  was  found 
invulnerable  in  his  intrenchments.  His  very  attack  was  never 
the  inspiration  of  courage,  but  the  result  of  calculation.  His 
idea  of  the  best  defence  consists  in  being  still  the  attacking  par 
ty.  "  My  ambition,"  he  says,  "  was  great,  but  was  of  a  cold  na 
ture."  In  one  of  his  conversations  with  Las  Casas,  he  remarked, 
"  As  to  moral  courage,  I  have  rarely  met  with  the  two-o'clock- 
in-the-morning  kind  :  I  mean  unprepared  courage,  that  which  is 
necessary  on  an  unexpected  occasion  ;  and  which,  in  spite  of  the 
most  unforeseen  events,  leaves  full  freedom  of  judgment  and 
decision  "  :  and  he  did  not  hesitate  to  declare  that  he  was  him 
self  eminently  endowed  with  this  "  two-o'clock-in-the-morning 
courage,  and  that  he  had  met  with  few  persons  equal  to  him 
self  in  this  respect." 

Everything  depended  on  the  nicety  of  his  combinations, 
and  the  stars  were  not  more  punctual  than  his  arithmetic. 
His  personal  attention  descended  to  the  smallest  particulars. 
"  At  Montebello,  I  ordered  Kellermann  to  attack  with  eight 
hundred  horse,  and  with  these  he  separated  the  six  thousand 
Hungarian  grenadiers,  before  the  very  eyes  of  the-  Austrian 
cavalry.  This  cavalry  was  half  a  league  off,  and  required  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  to  arrive  on  the  field  of  action  ;  and  I  have 
observed,  that  it  is  always  these  quarters  of  an  hour  that  de 
cide  the  fate  of  a  battle."  "  Before  he  fought  a  battle,  Bona 
parte  thought  little  about  what  he  should  do  in  case  of 
success,  but  a  great  deal  about  what  he  should  do  in  case  of 
a  reverse  of  fortune."  The  same  prudence  and  good  sense 
mark  all  his  behavior.  His  instructions  to  his  secretary  at  the 
Tuileries  are  worth  remembering.  "  During  the  night,  enter 
my  chamber  as  seldom  as  possible.  Do  not  awake  me  when 
you  have  any  good  news  to  communicate  ;  with  that  there  is 
no  hurry.  But  when  you  bring  bad  news,  rouse  me  instantly, 


NAPOLEON;    OR,    THE    MAX   OF   THE   WORLD.  129 

for  then  there  is  not  a  UK  uncut  to  bo  lost."  It  was  a  whim 
sical  economy  of  the  same  kind  which  dictated  his  practice, 

when  general  in  Italy,  in  ivgard  to  liis  burdenM>me  c«nvspond- 

He  directed    n.Mirrienne   to   leave  all    letters  unopeuod 

for  three  weeks,  and  then  observed  with  satisfaction   how  largo 

a  part  of  the  correspondence    had  thus  disposed  of  itself,   and 

no  longer  required  an  answer.     His  achievement  of  business 

was  immense,  and  enlarge*  the  known  powers  of  man.  Thero 
have  been  many  working  kings,  from  t'lysses  to  William  of 
Orange,  but  none  who  accomplished  a  tithe  of  this  man's  pei> 
fermanee* 

To  these  gifts  of  nature,  Napoleon  added  the  advantage  of 
having  been  born  to  a  private  and  humble  fortune.  In  his 
later  days,  he  had  the  weakness  of  wishing  to  add  to  hia 
crowns  and  badges  the  proscription  of  aristocracy  ;  but  he 
knew  his  debt  to  his  austere  education,  and  made  no  secret  of 
his  contempt  for  the  born  kings,  and  for  "the  hereditary 
as  he  eoarselv  st  vied  the  Bourbons.  He  said  that,  "in 
their  exile,  they  have  learned  nothing  and  forgot  nothing." 
Bonaparte  had  passed  through  all  the  degrees  of  military  ser 
vice,  but  also  was  citizen  before  he  was  emperor,  and  so  has 
the  key  to  citizenship.  His  remarks  and  estimates  discover 
the  information  and  justness  of  measurement  of  the  middle 
class.  ThoM  who  had  to  deal  with  him,  found  that  he  was 
not  to  be  imposed  upon,  but  could  cipher  as  well  as  another 
man.  This  appears  in  all  parts  of  his  Memoirs,  dictate) I  at 
St.  Helena.  When  the  expenses  of  the  empress,  of  his  house 
hold,  of  his  palaces,  had  accumulated  great  debts,  Napoleon  e.X' 
amined  the  bills  of  the  creditors  himself,  detected  overcharges 
and  errors,  and  reduced  the  claims  by  considerable  sums. 

.rrand  weapon,  namely,  the  millions  whom  he  directed, 
he  owed  to  the  representative  character  which  clothed  him. 
He  interests  us  as  he  stands  for  France  and  for  Knrope  ;  and 
he  exists  as  captain  and  kinir,  only  as  far  as  the  revolution,  or 
the  interest  of  the  industrious  masses,  found  an  organ  and  a 
r  in  him.  In  the  social  interests,  he  knew  the  meaning 
and  value  of  labor,  and  threw  himself  naturally  on  that  side. 
I  like  an  incident  mentioned  bv  one  of  his  biographer!  at  St. 
Helena.  "  When  walking  with  Mrs.  Baloombe,  some  servants, 
carry  in  LT  heavy  bo.\e<.  passed  by  on  the  road,  and  Mrs.  l>al- 
comhi  them,  in  rather  an  angry  tone,  to  keep  back. 

Napoleon  interfered,  saying,   'Ilespeet  the  burden.  Madam.' *' 
In  the  time  of  th<>  empire,  he  directed  attention  to  the  improve 
6*  I 


130  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 

ment  and  embellishment  of  the  markets  of  the  capital.  "  The 
market-place,"  he  said,  "  is  the  Louvre  of  the  common  people." 
The  principal  works  that  have  survived  him  are  his  magnifi 
cent  roads.  He  filled  the  troops  with  his  spirit,  and  a  sort  of 
freedom  and  companionship  grew  up  between  him  and  them, 
which  the  forms  of  his  court  never  permitted  between  the  offi 
cers  and  himself.  They  performed,  under  his  eye,  that  which 
no  others  could  do.  The  best  document  of  his  relation  to  his 
troops  is  the  order  of  the  day  on  the  morning  of  the  battle  of 
Austerlitz,  in  which  Napoleon  promises  the  troops  that  he  will 
keep  his  person  out  of  reach  of  fire.  This  declaration,  which 
is  the  reverse  of  that  ordinarily  made  by  generals  and  sover 
eigns  on  the  eve  of  a  battle,  sufficiently  explains  the  devotion 
of  the  army  to  their  leader. 

But  though  there  is  in  particulars  this  identity  between 
Napoleon  and  the  mass  of  the  people,  his  real  strength  lay 
in  their  conviction  that  he  was  their  representative  in  his 
genius,  and  aims,  not  only  when  he  courted,  but  when  he 
controlled,  and  even  when  he  decimated  them  by  his  conscrip 
tions.  He  knew,  as  well  as  any  Jacobin  in  France,  how  to 
philosophize  on  liberty  and  equality  ;  and,  when  allusion  was 
made  to  the  precious  blood  of  centuries,  which  was  spilled  by 
the  killing  of  the  Due  d'Enghien,  he  suggested,  "  Neither  is 
my  blood  ditch-water."  The  people  felt  that  no  longer  the 
throne  was  occupied,  and  the  land  sucked  of  its  nourishment, 
by  a  small  class  of  legitimates,  secluded  from  all  community 
with  the  children  of  the  soil,  and  holding  the  ideas  and  su 
perstitions  of  a  long-forgotten  state  of  society.  Instead  of 
that  vampire,  a  man  of  themselves  held,  in  the  Tuileries, 
knowledge  and  ideas  like  their  own,  opening,  of  course,  to 
them  and  their  children,  all  places  of  power  and  trust.  The 
day  of  sleepy,  selfish  policy,  ever  narrowing  the  means  and 
opportunities  of  young  men,  was  ended,  and  a  day  of  expan 
sion  and  demand  was  come.  A  market  for  all  the  powers 
and  productions  of  man  was  opened  ;  brilliant  prizes  glittered 
in  the  eyes  of  youth  and  talent.  The  old,  iron-bound,  feudal 
France  was  changed  into  a  young  Ohio  or  New  York ;  and 
those  who  smarted  under  the  immediate  rigors  of  the  new 
monarch,  pardoned  them,  as  the  necessary  severities  of  the 
military  svstern  which  had  driven  out  the  oppressor.  And 
even  when  the  majority  of  the  people  had  begun  to  ask, 
whether  they  had  really  gained  anything  under  the  exhaust 
ing  levies  of  m'en  and  money  of  the  new  master,  —  the  whole 


NAPOLEON;    OR,   THE   MAX    OF   THE   WORLD.  131 

talent  of  the  county,  in  every  rank  and  kindred,  took  his  part, 
and  deicnded  him  us  its  natural  patron.  In  1S1 4,  when  ad 
vised  to  rely  on  the  higher  classes,  Napoleon  said  to  those 
around  him  :  "Gentlemen,  in  the  .situation  in  which  J  .stand, 
mv  oiilv  nobility  is  the  rahble  of  the  Faubourgs." 

Napoleon  met  this  natural  expectation.  The  necessity  of 
his  position  required  a  hospitality  to  every  sort  of  talent,  and 
its  appointment  to  trusts;  and  his  feeling  went  along  with 
this  policy.  Like  every  superior  person,  he  undoubtedly  felt 
a  desire  for  men  and  compeers,  and  a  wish  to  measure  his 
power  with  other  masters,  and  an  impatience  of  fools  and  un 
derlings.  In  Italy,  he  sought  for  men,  and  found  none. 
"  Good  God  ! "  he  said,  "  how  rare  men  are  !  There  are 
eighteen  millions  in  Italy,  and  1  have  with  difficulty  found  two, 
—  Dandolo  and  Melzi."  In  later  years,  with  larger  experience, 
his  respect  for  mankind  was  not  increased.  In  a  moment  of 
bitterness,  he  said,  to  one  of  his  oldest  friends  :  "  Men  deserve 
the  contempt  with  which  they  inspire  me.  I  have  only  to  put 
some  gold  lace  on  the  coat  of  my  virtuous  republicans,  and 
they  immediately  become  just  what  I  wish  them."  This  im 
patience  at  levity  was,  however,  an  oblique  tribute  of  respect 
to  those  able  persons  who  commanded  his  regard,  not  only 
•when  he  found  them  friends  and  coadjutors,  but  also  when 
they  resisted  his  will.  He  could  not  confound  Fox  and  Pitt, 
Carnot,  Lafayette,  and  Bernadotte,  with  the  danglers  of  his 
court ;  and,  in  spite  of  the  detraction  which  his  systematic 
egotism  dictated  toward  the  great  captains  who  conquered  with 
and  for  him,  ample  acknowledgments  are  made  by  -him  to 
Lanncs,  Duroc,  Kleber,  Dessaix,  Masscna,  Mnrat,  "Xey,  and 
Augereau.  If  he  felt  himself  their  patron,  and  the  founder 
of  their  fortunes,  as  when  he  said,  "  I  made  my  generals  out 
of  mud,"  he  could  not  hide  his  satisfaction  in  receiving  from 
them  a  seconding  and  support  commensurate  with  the  grandeur 
of  his  enterprise.  In  the  Russian  campaign,  he  was  so  much 
impressed  by  the  courage  and  resources  of  Marshal  Xey,  that 
he  said,  "  I  have  two  hundred  millions  in  my  coffers,  and  I 
would  give  them  all  for  Xey."  The  characters  which  he  has 
drawn  of  several  of  his  marshals  are  discriminating,  and, 
though  they  did  not  content  the  insatiable  vanity  of  French 
officers,  are,  no  doubt,  substantially  just.  And,  in  fact,  every 
species  of  merit  was  sought  and  advanced  under  his  govern 
ment.  "  I  know,"  ho  said,  "the  depth  and  draught  of  water  of 
every  one  of  my  generals."  Natural  power  was  sure  to  be  well 


132  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

received  at  his  court.  Seventeen  men,  in  his  time,  were  raised 
from  common  soldiers  to  the  rank  of  king,  marshal,  duke,  or 
general  j  and  the  crosses  of  his  Legion  of  Honor  were  given  to 
personal  valor,  and  not  to  family  connection.  "  When  soldiers 
have  been  baptized  in  the  lire  of  a  battle-field,  they  have  all 
one  rank  in  my  eyes." 

When  a  natural  king  becomes  a  titular  king,  everybody  is 
pleased  and  satisfied.  The  Revolution  entitled  the  strong 
populace  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine,  and  every  horse-boy 
and  powder-monkey  in  the  army,  to  look  on  Napoleon,  as  flesh 
of  his  flesh,  and  the  creature  of  his  party  ;  but  there  is  some 
thing  in  the  success  of  grand  talent  which  enlists  a  universal 
sympathy.  For,  in  the  prevalence  of  sense  and  spirit  over 
stupidity  and  malversation,  all  reasonable  men  have  an  interest  \ 
and,  as  intellectual  beings,  we  feel  the  air  purified  by  the  elec 
tric  shock,  when  material  force  is  overthrown  by  intellectual 
energies.  As  soon  as  we  are  removed  out  of  the  reach  of  local 
and  accidental  partialities,  man  feels  that  Napoleon  fights  for 
him  ;  these  are  honest  victories  ;  this  strong  steam-engine  does 
our  work.  Whatever  appeals  to  the  imagination,  by  tran 
scending  the  ordinary  limits  of  human  ability,  wonderfully 
encourages  and  liberates  us.  This  capacious  head,  revolving 
and  disposing  sovereignly  trains  of  affairs,  and  animating  such 
multitudes  of  agents  ;  this  eye,  which  looked  through  Europe  : 
this  prompt  invention  ;  this  inexhaustible  resource  ;  —  what 
events  !  what  romantic  pictures  !  what  strange  situations  !  — 
when  spying  the  Alps,  by  a  sunset  in  the  Sicilian  sea  ;  drawing 
up  his  army  for  battle,  in  sight  of  the  Pyramids,  and  saying 
to  his  troops,  "  From  the  tops  of  those  pyramids,  forty  centu 
ries  look  down  on  you  "  ;  fording  the  Red  Sea ;  wading  in  the 
gulf  of  the  Isthmus  of  Suez.  On  the  shore  of  Ptolemais, 
gigantic  projects  agitated  him.  "Had  Acre  fallen,  I ,  should 
have  changed  the  face  of  the  world."  His  army,  on  the  night 
of  the  battle  of  Austerlitz,  which  was  the  anniversary  of  his 
inauguration  as  Emperor,  presented  him  with  a  bouquet  of 
forty  standards  taken  in  the  fight.  Perhaps  it  is  a  little  pue 
rile,  the  pleasure  he  took  in  making  these  contrasts  glaring ;  as, 
when  he  pleased  himself  with  making  kings  wait  in  his  ante 
chambers,  at  Tilsit,  at  Paris,  and  at  Erfurt. 

We  cannot,  in  the  universal  imbecility,  indecision,  and  indo 
lence  of  men,  sufficiently  congratulate  ourselves  on  this  strong 
and  ready  actor,  who  took  occasion  by  the  beard,  and  showed 
us  how  much  may  be  accomplished  by  the  mere  force  of  such 


NAPOLEON;  OR,  THE  MAX  OF  THE  WORLD. 

virtues  as  all  men  possess  in  less  decrees  :  namely,  by  -punctu 
ality,  by  personal  attention,  by  courage,  and  thorough). c.-s. 
"The  Ausrrians."  he  said,  "do  not  know  the  value  of  time." 
I  should  cite  him,  in  his  earlier  years,  as  a  model  of  prudence. 
His  power  does  not  consist  in  any  wild  or  extravagant  force; 
in  any  enthusiasm,  like  Mahomet's  ;  or  singular  power  of  per 
suasion  ;  but  in  the  exercise  of  common  sense  on  each  emer 
gency,  instead  of  abiding  by  rules  and  customs.  The  lesson 
he  teaches  is  that  which  vigor  always  teaches,  —  that  there  is 
always  room  for  it.  To  what  heaps  of  cowardly  doubts  is  not 
that  man's  life  an  answer.  When  he  appeared,  it  was  the 
belief  of  all  military  men  that  there  could  be  nothing  new  in 
war  :  as  it  is  the  belief  of  men  to-day,  that  nothing  new  can 
be  undertaken  in  politics,  or  in  church,  or  in  letters,  or  in  trade, 
or  in  farming,  or  in  our  social  manners  and  onstomfl  ;  and  as  it 
is,  at  all  times,  the  belief  of  society  that  the  world  is  used  up. 
I5ut  Bonaparte  knew  better  than  society  ;  and,  moreover,  knew 
that  he  knew  better.  I  think  all  men  know  Letter  than  they 
do  ;  know  that  the  institutions  we  so  volubly  commend  are  go- 
carts  and  bawbles  ;  but  they  dare  not  trust  their  presentiments. 
Bonaparte  relied  on  his  own  sense,  and  did  not  care  a  bean  for 
other  people's.  The  world  treated  his  novelties  just  as  it 
treats  everybody's  novelties,  —  made  infinite  objection;  mus 
tered  all  the  impediments  :  but  he  snapped  his  finger  at  their 
objections.  "  What  creates  great  difficulty,"  he  remarks,  "  in 
the  profession  of  the  land-commander,  is  the  necessity  of  feed 
ing  so  many  men  and  animals.  If  he  allows  himself  to  be 
guided  by  the  commissaries,  he  will  never  stir,  and  all  his  ex 
peditions  will  fail."  An  example  of  his  common  sense  is  what 
he  says  of  the  passage  of  the  Alps  in  winter,  which  all  writers, 
one  repeating  after  the  other,  had  described  as  ini]  racl it-able. 
"Thi«  winter."  says  Napoleon,  "  is  not  the  most  unfavorable 
season  for  the  passage  of  lofty  mountains.  The  snow  is  then 
firm,  the  weather  settled,  and  there  is  nothing  to  fear  from 
avalanches,  the  real  and  only  danger  to  be  apprehended  in  the 
Alps.  On  tln.se  high  mountains,  there  are  often  very  fine  days 
in  December,  of  a  dry  cold,  with  extreme  calmness  in  the  air." 
Read  his  account,  too,  of  the  way  in  which  battles  arc  gained. 
"In  all  battles,  a  moment  occurs,  when  the  bravest  tl 
after  having  made  the  greatest  efforts,  feel  inclined  t<>  n  n. 
That  terror  proceeds  from  a  want  of  confidence  in  their  own 
courage  ;  and  it  only  requires  a  slight  opportunity,  a  piv 
to  restore  confidence  to  them.  The  art  is  to  give  rise  to  U.e- 


134  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN- 

opportunity,  and  to  invent  the  pretence.     At  Arcola,  I  won  the 

battle  with  twenty-five  horsemen.     I  seized  that  moment  of 

lassitude,  gave  every  man  a  trumpet,  and  gained  the  day  with 

his  handful.     You  see  that  two  armies  are  two  bodies  which 

meet,  and  endeavor  to  frighten  each  other  :  a  moment  of  pan i, 

occurs,  and  that  moment  must  be  turned  to  advantage     When 

man  has  been  present  in  many  actions,  he  distinguishes  that 

moment  without  difficulty  :  it    is  as  easy  as  casting  up   an 


epuy  of  the  nineteenth  century  added  to  * 
capacity  for  peculation  on  general  topics      He  delighted  m 
running  through  the  range  of  practical,  of  literary,   and  of 
abstract  questions.     His  opinion  is  always ;  original  and  to  the 
purpose.     On  the  voyage  to  Egypt,  he  liked,  after  dinner,  t( 
fix  on  three  or  four  persons  to  support  a  proposition,  and 
many  to  oppose  it.     He  gave  a  subject,  and  the  discussions 
toned  on  questions  of  religion,  the  different  kinds  of  govern 
ment,  and  the  art  of  war.     One  day,  he  asked   whether  tt 
planets  were  inhabited  1     On  another,  what  was  the  age  of  t 
world  1     Then  he  proposed  to  consider  the  probability  of  the 
destruction  of  the  globe,  either  by  water  or  by  fire  :  at  another 
time,  the  truth  or  fallacy  of  presentiments,  and  the  interpreta 
tion  of  dreams.     He  was  very  fond  of  talking  of  religion. 
1806,  he  conversed  with  Fournier,  Bishop  of  Montpellier  01 
matters  of  theology.     There  were  two  points  011  which  they 
could  not  agree,  viz.,  that  of  hell,  and  that  of  salvation  out  of 
the  pale  of  the  church.     The  Emperor  told  Josephine,  that  he 
disputed  like  a  devil  on  these  two  points,  on  which  the  B 
was  inexorable.     To  the    philosophers  he  readily  yielded  all 
that  was  proved  against  religion  as  the  work  of  men  and  time  ; 
but  he  would  not  hear  of  materialism.     One  fine  night    on 
deck,  amid  a  clatter  of  materialism,  Bonaparte  pointed  to  t 
stars,  and  said,  "You  may  talk  as  long  as  you  please,  gentle 
men,  but  who  made  all  that  1 "     He  delighted  in  the  conversa 
tion  of  men  of  science,  particularly  of  Monge  and  Bertholle 
but  the  men  of  letters  he  slighted  ;  « they  were  manufacturers 
of  phrases."     Of  medicine,  too,  he  was  fond  of  talking,  and 
with  those  of  its  practitioners  whom  he  most  esteemed,  -~  with 
Corvisart  at  Paris,   and   with   Antonomarchi    at   St.   Helena 
"Believe  me,"  he  said  to  the  last,  "we  had  better  leave  off  all 
these  remedies  :  life  is  a  fortress  which  neither  you  nor  I  know 
anything  about.     Why  throw  obstacles  in  the  way  of  its  de 
fence]     Its  own  means  are  superior  to  all  the  apparatus  of 


NAPOLEON  ;  OR,  THE  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD.     135 

your  laboratories.  Corvisart  candidly  agreed  with  me,  that  all 
your  filthy  mixtures  are  u'ood  for  not  Inn-'.  Medicine  is  a  col 
lection,  of  uncertain  prescriptions,  the  results  of  which,  taken 
collectively,  are  more  fatal  than  useful  to  mankind.  Water, 
air,  and  cleanliness  are  the  chief  articles  in  my  pharmacopeia." 

His  memoirs,  dictated  to  Count  Montholon  and  General 
(ioui'-aud.  at  St.  Helena,  have  great  value,  after  all  the  de 
duction  that,  it  seems,  is  to  be  made  from  them,  on  account 
of  his  known  disingenuousness.  He  has  the  good-nature  of 
strength  and  conscious  superiority.  I  admire  his  simple,  clear 
narrative  of  his  battles;  good  as  Caesar's;  his  good-natured 
and  sufficiently  respectful  account  of  Marshal  Wurmser  and 
his  other  antagonists,  and  his  own  equality  as  a  writer  to 
his  varying  subject.  The  most  agreeable  portion  is  the 
Campaign  in  Egypt. 

He  had  hours  of  thought  and  wisdom.  In  intervals  of 
leisure,  either  in  the  camp  or  the  palace,  Napoleon  appears  as 
a  man  of  genius,  directing  on  abstract  questions  the  native  ap 
petite  for  truth,  and  the  impatience  of  words,  he  was  wont  to 
shew  in  war.  He  could  enjoy  every  play  of  invention,  a  ro 
mance,  a  li«n  i/i'tf,  as  well  as  a  stratagem  in  a  campaign.  He 
delighted  to  fascinate  Josephine  and  her  ladies,  in  a  dim-lighted 
apartment,  by  the  terrors  of  a  fiction,  to  which  his  voice  and 
dramatic  power  lent  every  addition. 

I  call  Napoleon  the  agent  or  attorney  of  the  middle  class  of 
modern  society ;  of  the  throng  who  fill  the  markets,  shops, 
counting-houses,  manufactories,  ships,  of  the  modern  world, 
aiming  to  be  rich.  He  was  the  agitator,  the  destroyer  of  pre 
scription,  the  internal  improver,  the  liberal,  the  radical,  the 
inventor  of  means,  the  opener  of  doors  and  markets,  the  sub 
vert  er  of  monopoly  and  abuse.  Of  course,  the  rich  and  aristo 
cratic  did  not  like  him.  England,  the  centre  of  capital,  and 
Home  and  Austria,  centres  of  tradition  and  genealogy,  opposed 
him.  The  consternation  of  the  dull  and  conservative  classes, 
the  terror  of  the  foolish  old  men  and  old  women  of  the  Roman 
conclave,  —  who  in  their  despair  took  hold  of  anything,  and 
would  cliiiLT  to  ivd-hot  iron,  —  the  vain  attempts  of  statists  to 
amuse  and  deceive  him,  of  the  Emperor  of  Austria  to  bribe 
him  ;  and  the  instinct  of  the  young,  ardent,  and  active  men, 
everywhere,  which  pointed  him  out  as  the  giant  of  the  middle 
class,  make  his  history  bright  and  commanding.  He  had  the 
virtues  of  the  masses*  of  his  constituents:  he  had  also  th^ir 
vices.  I  am  sorry  that  the  brilliant  picture  has  its  reverse. 


136  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

But  that  is  the  fatal  quality  which  we  discover  in  our  pursuit 
of  wealth,  that  it  is  treacherous,  and  is  bought  by  the  breaking 
or  weakening  of  the  sentiments  ;  and  it  is  inevitable  that  we 
should  find  the  same  fact  in  the  history  of  this  champion,  who 
proposed  to  himself  simply  a  brilliant  career,  without  any 
stipulation  or  scruple  concerning  the  means. 

Bonaparte  was  singularly  destitute  of  generous  sentiments. 
The  highest-placed  individual  in  the  most  cultivated  age  and 
population  of  the  world,  —  he  has  not  the  merit  of  common 
truth  and  honesty.  He  is  unjust  to  his  generals  ;  egotistic,  and 
monopolizing  ;  meanly  stealing  the  credit  of  their  great  actions 
from  Kellermann,  from  Bernadotte ;  intriguing  to  involve  his 
faithful  Junot  in  hopeless  bankruptcy,  in  order  to  drive  him  to 
a  distance  from  Paris,  because  the  familiarity  of  his  manners 
offends  the  new  pride  of  his  throne.  He  is  a  boundless  liar. 
The  official  paper,  his  Moniteurn,  and  all  his  bulletins,  are  prov 
erbs  for  saying  what  he  wished  to  be  believed  ;  and  worse,  — 
he  sat,  in  his  premature  old  age,  in  his  lonely  island,  coldly 
falsifying  facts,  and  dates,  and  characters,  and  giving  to  history 
a  theatrical  eclat.  Like  all  Frenchmen,  he  has  a  passion  for 
stage  effect.  Every  action  that  breathes  of  generosity  is  pois 
oned  by  this  calculation.  His  star,  his  love  of  glory,  his  doc 
trine  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  are  all  French.  "  I  must 
dazzle  and  astonish.  If  1  were  to  give  the  liberty  of  the  press, 
my  power  could  not  last  three  days."  To  make  a  great  noise 
is  his  favorite  design.  "A  great  reputation  is  a  great  noise  : 
the  more  there  is  made,  the  farther  off  it  is  heard.  Laws, 
institutions,  monuments,  nations,  all  fall  ;  but  the  noise  con 
tinues,  and  resounds  in  after  ages."  His  doctrine  of  immor 
tality  is  simply  fame.  His  theory  of  influence  is  not  flatter 
ing.  "  There  are  two  levers  for  moving  men,  —  interest  and 
fear.  Love  is  a  silly  infatuation,  depend  upon  it.  Friendship 
is  but  a  name.  I  love  nobod}^.  I  do  not  even  love  my  broth 
ers  :  perhaps  Joseph,  a  little,  from  habit,  and  because  he  is  my 
elder  ;  and  Duroc,  I  love  him  too  ;  but  why  I  —  because  his 
character  pleases  me  :  he  is  stern  and  resolute,  and,  I  believe, 
the  fellow  never  shed  a  tear.  For  my  part,  I  know  very  well 
that  I  have  no  true  friends.  As  long  as  I  continue  to  be  what  I 
am,  I  may  have  as  many  pretended  friends  as  I  please.  Leave 
sensibility  to  women  :  but  men  should  be  firm  in  heart  and  pur 
pose,  or  they  should  have  nothing  to  do  with  wrar  and  govern 
ment."  He  was  thoroughly  unscrupulous.  He  would  steal, 
slander,  assassinate,  drown,  and  poison,  as  his  interest  dictated. 


NAPOLEON  ;  OR,  THE  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD.     137 

l\^  h-.nl  n«>  -vnerosity  ;  but  mere  vulgar  hatred:  lie  was  in 
tensely  selfish  :  he  was  perfidious  :  he  cheat ed  at  cards  :  ho 
was  a  prodigious  gossip;  and  opened  letters  ;  and  delighted  in 
his  infamous  police;  and  rubbed  his  hands  with  joy  when  ho 
had  intercepted  some  morsel  of  intelligence  concerning  the 
men  and  women  about  him,  boasting  that  "he  knew  every 
thing"  ;  and  interfered  with  the  cutting  the  dresses  of  the  wo 
men  ;  and  listened  after  the  hurrahs  and  the  compliments  of 
the  street,  incognito.  His  manners  were  coarse.  He  treated 
women  with  low  familiarity.  He  had  the  habit  of  pulling 
their  cars,  and  pinching  their  cheeks,  when  he  was  in  good- 
humor,  and  of  pulling  tie  ears  and  whiskers  of  men,  and  of 
striking  and  horse-play  with  them,  to  his  last  days.  It  does 
not  appear  that  he  listened  at  keyholes,  or,  at  least,  that  ho 
was  caught  at  it.  In  short,  when  you  have  penetrated  through 
all  the  circles  of  power  and  splendor,  you  were  not  dealing 
with  a  gentleman,  at  last ;  but  with  an  impostor  and  a  rogue  : 
and  he  fully  deserves  the  epithet  of  Jupiter  Scapin,  or  a  sort 
of  Scamp  Jupiter. 

In  describing  the  two  parties  into  which  modern  society 
divides  itself,  —  the  democrat  and  the  conservative,  —  I  said, 
Bonaparte  represents  the  Democrat,  or  the  party  of  men  of 
business,  against  the  stationary  or  conservative  party.  I 
omitted  then  to  say,  what  is  material  to  the  statement,  name 
ly,  that  these  two  parties  differ  only  as  young  and  old.  The 
democrat  is  a  young  conservative  ;  the  conservative  is  an  old 
democrat.  The  aristocrat  is  the  democrat  ripe,  and  gone  to 
seed,  —  because  both  parties  stand  on  the  one  ground  of  the 
supreme  value  of  property,  which  one  endeavors  to  get,  and 
the  other  to  keep.  Bonaparte  may  be  said  to  represent  the 
whole  history  of  this  party,  its  youth  and  its  age  ;  yes,  and 
with  poetic  justice,  its  fate,  in  his  own.  The  counter-revolu 
tion,  the  counter- party,  still  waits  for  its  organ  and  representa 
tive,  in  a  lover  and  a  man  of  truly  public  and  universal  aims. 

Here  was  an  experiment,  under  the  most  favorable  condi 
tions,  of  the  powers  of  intellect  without  conscience.  Never 
was  such  a  leader  so  endowed,  and  so  wraponed  ;  never  leader 
found  such  aids  and  followers.  And  what  was  the  result  of 
this  vast  talent  and  power,  of  these  immense  armies,  burned 
cities,  squandered  treasures,  immolated  millions  of  men,  of 
this  demoralized  Kuropc  ]  It  came  to  no  result.  All  passed 
away,  like  the  smoke  of  his  artillery,  and  left  no  trace. 


138  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

He  left  France  smaller,  poorer,  feebler,  than  he  found  it ;  and 
the  whole  contest  for  freedom  was  to  be  begun  again.  The 
attempt  was,  in  principle,  suicidal.  France  served  him  with 
life,  and  limb,  and  estate,  as  long  as  it  could  identify  its  inter 
est  with  him  ;  but  when  men  saw  that  after  victory  was  anoth 
er  war ;  after  the  destruction  of  armies,  new  conscriptions  ; 
and  they  who  had  toiled  so  desperately  were  never  nearer  to 
the  reward,  —  they  could  not  spend  what  they  had  earned, 
nor  repose  on  their  down-beds,  nor  strut  in  their  chateaux,  — 
they  deserted  him.  Men  found  that  his  absorbing  egotism 
was  deadly  to  all  other  men.  It  resembled  the  torpedo,  which 
inflicts  a  succession  of  shocks  on  anyone  who  takes  hold  of 
it,  producing  spasms  which  contract  tne  muscles  of  the  hand, 
so  that  the  man  cannot  open  his  fingers ;  and  the  animal  in 
flicts  new  and  more  violent  shocks,  until  he  paralyzes  and  kills 
his  victim.  So,  this  exorbitant  egotist  narrowed,  impover 
ished,  and  absorbed  the  power  and  existence  of  those  who 
served  him  ;  and  the  universal  cry  of  France,  and  of  Europe, 
in  1814,  was,  "  enough  of  him  "  :  "assez  de  Bonaparte." 

It  was  not  Bonaparte's  fault.  He  did  all  that  in  him  lay, 
to  live  and  thrive  without  moral  principle.  It  was  the  nature 
of  things,  the  eternal  law  of  the  man  and  the  world,  which 
balked  and  ruined  him ;  and  the  result,  in  a  million  experi 
ments  would  be  the  same.  Every  experiment,  by  multitudes 
or  by  individuals,  that  has  a  sensual  and  selfish  aim,  will  fail. 
The  pacific  Fourier  will  be  as  inefficient  as  the  pernicious  Na 
poleon.  As  long  as  our  civilization  is  essentially  one  of  prop 
erty,  of  fences,  of  exclusiveness,  it  will  be  mocked  by  delusions. 
Our  riches  will  leave  us  sick  ;  there  will  be  bitterness  in  our 
laughter ;  and  our  wine  will  burn  our  mouth.  Only  that 
good  profits,  which  we  can  taste  with  all  doors  open,  and 
which  serves  all  men. 


VII. 
GOETHE;    OR,  THE  WRITER. 


GOETHE;    OR,  THE   WRITER. 


I  FIND  a  provision,  in  the  constitution  of  the  world,  for 
the  writer  or  secretary,  who  is  to  report  the  doings  of  the 
miraculous  spirit  of  life  "that  everywhere  throbs  and  works. 
His  office  is  a  reception  of  the  facts  into  the  -mind,  and  then  a 
selection  of  the  eminent  and  characteristic  experiences. 

Nature  will  be  reported.  All  things  are  engaged  in  writing 
their  history.  The  planet,  the  pebble,  goes  attended  by  its 
shadow.  The  rolling  rock  leaves  its  scratches  on  the  moun 
tain  ;  the  river,  its  channel  in  the  soil ;  the  animal,  its  bones 
in  the  stratum  ;  the  fern  and  leaf,  their  modest  epitaph  in  the 
coal.  The  falling  dro'p  makes  its  sculpture  in  the  sand  or  the 
stone.  Not  a  foot  steps  into  the  snow,  or  along  the  ground, 
but  prints,  in  characters  more  or  less  lasting,  a  map  of  its 
march.  Kverv  act  of  the  man  inscribes  itself  in  the  memories 
of  his  fellows,  and  in  his  own  manners  and  face.  The  air  is 
full  of  sounds  ;  the  sky,  of  tokens  ;  the  ground  is  all  memo 
randa  and  signatures  ;  and  every  object  covered  over  with 
hints,  which  speak  to  the  intelligent. 

In  nature,  this  self-registration  is  incessant,  and  the  narra 
tive  is  the  print  of  the  seal.  It  neither  exceeds  nor  comes 
short  of  the  fact.  But  nature  strives  upward  ;  and,  in  man, 
the  report  is  something  more  than  print  of  the  seal.  It  is  a 
new  and  finer  form  of  the  original.  The  record  is  alive,  as 
that  which  it  recorded  is  alive.  In  man,  the  memory  is  a 
kind  of  looking  '_rl:iss.  which,  having  received  the  images  of 
surrounding  objc-'-N.  i>  touched  with  life,  and  disposes  them 
in  a  new  order.  The  facts  which  transpired  do  not  lie  in  it 
inert  ;  but  some  subside,  and  others  shine  ;  so  that  soon  we 
have  a  new  picture,  composed  of  the  eminent  experiences. 
The  man  co-operates.  He  loves  to  communicate  ;  and  that 
which  is  for  him  to  say  lies  as  a  load  on  his  heart  until  it  is 


142  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 

delivered.  But,  besides  the  universal  joy  of  conversation, 
some  men  are  born  with  exalted  powers  for  this  second  crea 
tion.  Men  are  born  to  write.  The  gardener  saves  every  slip, 
and  seed,  and  peach-stone  :  his  vocation  is  to  be  a  planter  of 
plants.  Not  less  does  the  writer  attend  his  affair.  Whatever 
he  beholds  or  experiences,  comes  to  him  as  a  model,  and  sits 
for  its  picture.  He  counts  it  all  nonsense  that  they  say,  that 
some  things  are  undescribable.  He  believes  that  all  that  can 
be  thought  can  be  written,  first  or  last ;  and  he  would  report 
the  Holy  Ghost,  or  attempt  it.  Nothing  so  broad,  so  subtle, 
or  so  dear,  but  comes  therefore  commended  to  his  pen,  —  and 
he  will  write.  In  his  eyes,  a  man  is  the  faculty  of  reporting, 
and  the  universe  is  the  possibility  of  being  reported.  In  con 
versation,  in  calamity,  he  finds  new  materials ;  as  our  German 
poet  said,  "  Some  God  gave  me  the  power  to  paint  what  I  suf 
fer."  He  draws  his  rents  from  rage  and  pain.  By  acting 
rashly,  he  buys  the  power  of  talking  wisely.  Vexations,  and 
a  tempest  of  passion,  only  fill  his  sail ;  as  the  good  Luther 
writes,  "  When  I  am  angry,  I  can  pray  well,  and  preach  well" : 
and  if  we  knew  the  genesis  of  fine  strokes  of  eloquence,  they 
might  recall  the  complaisance  of  Sultan  Amurath,  who  struck 
off  some  Persian  heads,  that  his  physician,  Vesalius,  might  see 
the  spasms  in  the  muscles  of  the  neck.  His  failures  are  the 
preparation  of  his  victories.  A  new  thought,  or  a  crisis  of  pas 
sion,  apprises  him  that  all  that  he  has  yet  learned  and  written 
is  exoteric,  —  is  not  the  fact,  but  some  rumor  of  the  fact. 
What  then  1  Docs  he  throw  away  the  pen  ?  No  ;  he  begins 
again  to  describe  in  the  new  light  which  has  shined  on  him,  — 
if,  by  some  means,  he  may 'yet  save  some  true  word.  Nature 
conspires.  Whatever  can  be  thought  can  be  spoken,  and  still 
rises  for  utterance,  though  to  rude  and  stammering  organs. 
If  they  cannot  compass  it,  it  waits  and  works,  until,  at  last,  it 
moulds  them  to  its  perfect  will,  and  is  articulated. 

This  striving  after  imitative  expression,  which  one  meets 
everywhere,  is  significant  of  the  aim  of  nature,  but  is  mere 
stenography.  There  are  higher  degrees,  and  Nature  has  more 
splendid  endowments  for  those  whom  she  elects  to  a  superior 
office ;  for  the  class  of  scholars  or  writers,  who  see  connection 
where  the  multitude  seo  fragments,  and  who  are  impelled  to 
exhibit  the  facts  in  ideal  order,  and  so  to  supply  the  axis  on 
which  the  frame  of  things  turns.  Nature  has  dearly  at  heart 
the  formation  of  the  speculative  man,  or  scholar.  It  is  an  end 
never  lost  sight  of,  and  is  prepared  in  the  original  casting  of 


GOETHE;    OR,   THE  WRITER.  143 

things.  Ho  is  no  permissive  or  accidental  appearance,  but  an 
organic  agent,  one  of  the  estates  of  the  realm,  provided  and 
]uv|i.-iivd,  from  of  old  and  from  everlasting,  in  the  knitting 
and  contexture  of  things.  Presentiments,  impulses,  cheer  him. 
Tlu-iv  is  a  certain  heat  in  the  bivast,  which  attends  the  per 
ception  of  a  primary  truth,  which  is  the  shining  of  the  spiritu 
al  sun  down  into  the  shaft  of  the  mine.  Every  thought  which 
dawns  on  the  mind,  in  the  moment  of  its  emergence  announces 
its  own  rank,  whether  it  is  some  whimsy,  or  whether  it  is  a 
power. 

If  he  have  his  incitements,  there  is,  on  the  other  side,  invi 
tation  and  need  enough  of  his  gift.  Society  has,  at  all  times, 
the  same  want,  namely,  of  one  sane  man  with  adequate  powers 
of  expression  to  hold  up  each  object  of  monomania  in  its  right 
relations.  The  ambitious  and  mercenary  bring  their  last  new 
mumbo-jumbo,  whether  tariff,  Texas  railroad,  Komanism,  mes 
merism,  or  California  ;  and,  by  detaching  the  object  from  its 
relations,  easily  succeed  in  making  it  seen  in  a  glare;  and  a 
multitude  go  mad  about  it,  and  they  are  not  to  be  reproved  or 
cured  by  the  opposite  multitude,  who  are  kept  from  this  par 
ticular  insanity  by  an  equal  frenzy  on  another  crotchet.  But 
let  one  man  have  the  comprehensive  eye  that  can  replace  this 
isolated  prodigy  in  its  right  neighborhood  and  bearings,  — the 
illusion  vanishes,  and  the  returning  reason  of  the  community 
thanks  the  reason  of  the  monitor. 

The  scholar  is  the  man  of  the  ages,  but  he  must  also  wish 
with  other  men  to  stand  well  with  his  contemporaries.  But 
there  is  a  certain  ridicule,  among  superficial  people,  thrown  on 
the  scholars  or  clerisy,  which  is  of  no  import,  unless  the  scholar 
heed  it.  In  this  country,  the  emphasis  of  conversation,  and 
of  public  opinion,  commends  the  practical  man;  and  the  solid 
portion  of  the  community  is  named  with  significant  respect  in 
every  circle.  Our  people  are  of  Bonaparte's  opinion  concerning 
ideologists.  Ideas  are  subversive  of  social  order  and  comfort, 
and  at  last  make  a  fool  of  the  possessor.  It  is  believed,  the 
ordering  a  cargo  of  goods  from  New  York  to  Smyrna  ;  or,  the 
running  up  and  down  to  procure  a  company  of  subscribers  to 
. "ing  five  or  ten  thousand  spindles  ;  or,  the  negotiations 
of  a  caucus,  and  the  practising  on  the  prejudices  and  facility 
of  country-people,  to  secure-  their  votes  in  November,  —  is 
practical  and  commendable. 

If  I  were  to  compare  action  of  a  much  higher  strain  with  a- 
life  of  contemplation,  I  should  not  venture  to  pronounce  with 


144  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 

much  confidence  in  favor  of  the  former.  Mankind  have  such 
a  deep  stake  in  inward  illumination,  that  there  is  much  to  be 
said  by  the  hermit  or  monk  in  defence  of  his  life  of  thought 
and  prayer.  A  certain  partiality,  a  headiness,  and  loss  of  bal 
ance,  is  the  tax  which  all  action  must  pay.  Act,  if  you  like, 
• —  but  you  do  it  at  your  peril.  Men's  actions  are  too  strong 
for  them.  Show  me  a  man  who  has  acted,  and  who  has  not 
been  the  victim  and  slave  of  his  action.  What  they  have  done 
commits  and  enforces  them  to  do  the  same  again.  The  first 
act,  which  was  to  be  an  experiment,  becomes  a  sacrament. 
The  fiery  reformer  embodies  his  aspiration  in  some  rite  or 
covenant,  and  he  and  his  friends  cleave  to  the  form,  and  lose 
the  aspiration.  The  Quaker  has  established  Quakerism,  the 
Shaker  has  established  his  monastery  and  his  dance  ;  and, 
although  each  prates  of  spirit,  there  is  no  spirit,  but  repetition, 
which  is  anti-spiritual.  But  where  are  his  new  things  of  to 
day  ?  In  actions  of  enthusiasm,  this  drawback  appears  :  but 
in  those  lower  activities,  which  have  no  higher  aim  than  to 
make  us  more  comfortable  and  more  cowardly,  in  actions  of 
cunning,  actions  that  steal  and  lie,  actions  that  divorce  the 
speculative  from  the  practical  faculty,  and  put  a  ban  on  reason 
and  sentiment,  there  is  nothing  else  but  drawback  and  negation. 
The  Hindoos  write  in  their  sacred  books,  "  Children  only,  and 
not  the  learned,  speak  of  the  speculative  and  the  practical 
faculties  as  two.  They  are  but  one,  for  both  obtain  the  self 
same  end,  and  the  place  which  is  gained  by  the  followers  of  the 
one  is  gained  by  the  followers  of  the  other.  That  man  seeth, 
who  seeth  that  the  speculative  and  the  practical  doctrines  are 
one."  For  great  action  must  draw  on  the  spiritual  nature. 
The  measure  of  action  is  the  sentiment  from  which  it  proceeds. 
The  greatest  action  may  easily  be  one  of  the  most  private  cir 
cumstance. 

This  disparagement  will  not  come  from  the  leaders,  but  from 
inferior  persons.  The  robust  gentlemen  who  stand  at  the 
head  of  the  practical  class,  share  the  ideas  of  the  time,  and 
have  too  much  sympathy  with  the  speculative  class.  It  is  not 
from  men  excellent  in  any  kind,  that  disparagement  of  any 
other  is  to  be  looked  for.  With  such,  Talleyrand's  question  is 
ever  the  main  one  ;  not,  is  he  rich  1  is  he  committed  ?  is  he 
well-meaning  ?  has  he  this  or  that  faculty  1  is  he  of  the  move 
ment  1  is  he  of  the  establishment  1  —  but,  Is  he  anybody  ?  does 
he  stand  for  something  1  He  must  be  good  of  his  kind.  That 
is  all  that  Talleyrand,  all  that  State  Street,  all  that  the  com- 


GOETHE;    OR,    THE    WRITER.  145 

mon  sense  of  mankind  asks.  Be  real  and  admirable,  net  :us 
we  know,  hut  as  you  know.  . \hle  inrn  do  not  care  in  \\liat 
kind  a  man  is  able,  so  only  that  he  is  able.  A  master  likes  a 
master,  and  does  not  stipulate  whether  it  he  orator,  artist, 
i-ratt sinan,  or  king.  -— ••— 

Society  lias  really  no  graver  interest  than  the  well-bein^  of 
the  literary  class.  And  it  is  not  to  he  denied  that  men  are 
cordial  in  their  recognition  and  welcome  of  intellectual  accom 
plishments.  Still  the  writer  does  not  stand  with  us  on  any 
commanding  ground.  1  think  this  to  he  his  own  fault.  A 
pound  pusses  lor  a  pound.  There  huyo  been  times  when  he 
was  a  sacred  person  ;  lie  wrote  Bibles  ;  the  tirst  hymns  ;  the 
codes;  the  epics;  tragic  songs  ;  Sibylline  verses:  Chaldean 
oracles  ;  Lacoiiian  sentences,  inscribed  on  temple  walls.  Every 
word  was  true,  and  woke  the  nations  to  new  life.  He  wrote 
without  levity,  and  without  choice.  Every  word  was  curved 
Iwfore  his  eyes,  into  the  earth  and  the  sky  ;  and  the  sun  and 
stars  were  only  letters  of  the  same  purport,  and  of  no  more 
lity.  But  how  can  he  be  honored,  when  he  does  not 
honor  himself;  when  he  loses  himself  in  the  crowd  :  when  he 
is  no  longer  the  lawgiver,  but  the  sycophant,  ducking  to  the 
giddy  opinion  of  a  reckless  public  ;  when  he  must  sustain  with 
shameless  advocacy  some  bad  government,  or  must  bark  all  the 
\e-ir  round,  in  opposition  ;  or  write  conventional  criticism,  or 
profligate  novels  :  or.  at  any  rate,  write  without  thought,  and 
without  recurrence,  by  day  and  by  night,  to  the  sources  of 
inspiration  ] 

Some  reply  to  these  questions  may  be  furnished  by  looking 
over  the  list  of  men  of  literary  genius  in  our  aire.  Among 
the-e,  no  more  instructive  name  occurs  than  that  of  (loethe, 
to  represent  the  powers  and  duties  of  the  scholar  or  writer. 

1  described  Bonaparte  as  a  representative  of  the  popular 
external  life  and  aims  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Its  other 
half,  its  poet,  is  (loethe,  a  man  quite  domesticated  in  the 
century,  breathing  its  air,  enjoying  its  fruits,  impossible  at. 
any  earlier  time,  and  taking  away,  by  his  colossal  parts,  the 
r"proach  of  weakness,  which,  but  for  him,  would  lie  on  the 
intellectual  works  of  the  period.  He  appears  at  a  time  when 
a  general  culture  has  spread  itself,  and  has  smoothed  down  all 
sharp  individual  traits;  when,  in  the  absence  of  heroic  charac- 
:;d  comfort  and  OO-OperatioO  have  come  in.  There 
is  no  poet,  but  scores  of  poetic  writers:  no  Columbus,  but 
hundreds  of  post-cat »tams,  with  transit-telescope,  barometer, 

VOL.    II.  7  J 


146  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

and  concentrated  soup  and  pemmlcan  ;  no  Demosthenes,  no 
Chatham,  but  any  number  of  clever  parliamentary  and  foren 
sic  debaters  ;  no  prophet  or  saint,  but  colleges  of  divinity  ; 
no  learned  man,  but  learned  societies,  a  cheap  press,  reading- 
rooms,  and  book-clubs,  without  number.  There  was  never 
such  a  miscellany  of  facts.  The  world  extends  itself  like  Amer 
ican  trade.  We  conceive  Greek  or  Roman  life  —  life  in  the 
Middle  Ages  —  to  be  a  simple  and  comprehensible  affair  ;  but 
modern  life  to  respect  a  multitude  of  things,  which  is  distracting. 

Goethe  was  the  philosopher  of  this  multiplicity ;  hundred- 
handed,  Argus-eyed,  able  and  happy  to  cope  with  this  rolling 
miscellany  of  facts  and  sciences,  and,  by  his  own  versatility, 
to  dispose  of  them  with  ease ;  a  manly  mind,  unembarrassed 
by  the  variety  of  coats  of  convention,  with  which  life  had  got 
incrusted,  easily  able  by  his  subtlety  to  pierce  these,  and  to 
draw  his  strength  from  nature,  with  which  he  lived  in  full 
communion.  What  is  strange,  too,  he  lived  in  a  small  town, 
in  a  petty  state,  in  a  defeated  state,  and  in  a  time  when  Ger 
many  played  no  such  leading  part  in  the  world's  affairs  as  to 
swell  the  bosoms  of  her  sons  with  any  metropolitan  pride, 
such  as  might  have  cheered  a  French,  or  English,  or  once,  a 
Roman  or  Attic  genius.  Yet  there  is  no  trace  of  provincial 
limitation  in  his  muse.  He  is  not  a  debtor  to  his  position,  but 
was  born  with  a  free  and  controlling  genius. 

The  Helena,  or  the  second  part  of  Faust,  is  a  philosophy  of 
literature  set  in  poetry ;  the  work  of  one  who  found  himself 
the  master  of  histories,  mythologies,  philosophies,  sciences, 
and  national  literatures,  in  the  encyclopaedical  manner  in 
which  modern  erudition,  with  its  international  intercourse  of 
the  whole  earth's  population,  researches  into  Indian,  Etrus 
can,  and  all  Cyclopsean  arts,  geology,  chemistry,  astronomy  ; 
and  every  one  of  these  kingdoms  assiiming  a  certain  aerial  and 
poetic  character,  by  reason  of  the  multitude.  One  looks  at  a 
king  with  reverence ;  but  if  one  should  chance  to  be  at  a  con 
gress  of  kings,  the  eye  would  take  liberties  with  the  peculiari 
ties  of  each.  These  are  not  wild  miraculous  songs,  biit  elab 
orate  forms,  to  which  the  poet  has  confided  the  results  of 
eighty  years  of  observation.  This  reflective  and  critical  wis 
dom  makes  the  poem  more  truly  the  flower  of  this  time.  It 
dates  itself.  Still  he  is  a  poet,  —  poet  of  a  prouder  laurel 
than  any  contemporary,  and,  under  this  plague  of  micro 
scopes,  (for  he  seems  to  see  out  of  every  pore  of  his  skin,) 
strikes  the  harp  with  a  hero's  strength  and  grace. 


GOETHE;    OR,    THE    WHITE!!.  147 

The  wonder  of  the  book  is  its  superior  intelligence.  In  the 
nu'iistnium  of  this  man's  wit,  the  past  and  tin-  present  ages, 
and  their  religions,  politics,  and  modes  of  thinking,  :uv  dis 
solved  into  archetypes  and  ideas.  \Vluit  new  mythologies  sail 
through  his  head!  The  (Ireeks  said,  that  Alexander  went  as 
far  as  Chaos;  (Joethe  went,  only  the  other  day,  as  far;  and 
one  step  farther  he  ha/arded,  and  brought  himself  safe  back. 

Then-  is  a  heart-cheering  freedom  in  his  speculation.  The 
immense  hori/on  which  journeys  with  ns  lends  its  majesty  to 
trifles,  and  to  matters  of  convenience  and  necessity,  as  to 
solemn  and  festal  performances.  He  was  the  soul  of  his  cen 
tury.  If  that  was  learned,  and  had  become,  by  population, 
compact  organization,  and  drill  of  parts,  one  great  Exploring 
Expedition,  accumulating  a  glut  of  facts  and  fruits  too  fast  for 
any  hitherto-existing  savans  to  classify,  this  man's  mind  had 
ample  chambers  for  the  distribution  of  all.  He  had  a  power 
to  unite  the  detached  atoms  again  by  their  owrn  law.  He  has 
clothed  our  modern  existence  with  poetry.  Amid  littleness 
and  detail,  he  detected  the  (Jenius  of  life,  the  old  cunning 
Proteus,  nestling  close  beside  us,  and  showed  that  the  d  illness 
and  prose  we  ascribe  to  the  age  was  only  another  of  his 
masks  :  — 

"Ills  very  flight  is  presence  in  disguise  ": 

that  he  had  put  off  a  gay  uniform  for  a  fatigue  dress,  and  was 
not  a  whit  less  vivacious  or  rich  in  Liverpool,  ,>r  the  Hague, 
than  once  in  Rome  or  Antioch.  He  sought  him  in  public 
squares  and  main  streets,  in  boulevards  and  hotels  ;  and.  in 
the  solidest  kingdom  of  routine  and  the  senses,  lie  showed  the 
lurking  demonic  power  ;  that,  in  actions  of  routine,  a  thread 
of  mythology  uiid  fable  spins  itself:  and  this,  by  tracing  the 
pedigree  of  every  usage  and  pra.-t.ice,  every  institution,  utensil; 
and  means,  home  to  its  origin  in  the  structure  of  man.  He 
had  an  extreme  impatience  of  conjecture  and  of  rhetoric.  "  I 
have  LTMesses  enough  of  my  own  ;  if  a  man  write  a  book,  let 
him  set  down  only  what  he  knows."  He  writes  in  the  plainest 
and  lowest  tone,  omitting  a  great  deal  more  than  he  writes, 
and  patting  ever  a  thing  for  a  word.  He  has  explained  the 
distinction  between  the  antique  and  the  modern  spirit,  and  art. 
He  has  d  'fined  art.  its  scope  and  laws.  He  has  said  the  best 
things  about  nature  that  ever  were  said.  He  treats  nature  as 
the  old  philosophers,  as  the  seven  wise  masters  did, — and, 
with  whatever  loss  of  French  tabulation  and  dissection,  poetry 
und  humanity  remain  to  us;  and  they  have  some  doctoral 


148  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

skill.  Eyes  are  better,  on  the  whole,  than  telescopes  or  mi 
croscopes.  He  has  contributed  a  key  to  many  parts  of  nature, 
through  the  rare  turn  for  unity  and  simplicity  in  his  mind. 
Thus  Goethe  suggested  the  leading  idea  of  modern  botany,  that 
a  leaf,  or  the  eye  of  a  leaf,  is  the  unit  of  botany,  and  that 
every  part  of  the  plant  is  only  a  transformed  leaf  to  meet  a 
new  condition  ;  and,  by  varying  the  conditions,  a  leaf  may  be 
converted  into  any  other  organ;  and  any  other  organ  into  a 
leaf.  In  like  manner,  in  osteology,  he  assumed  that  one  ver 
tebra  of  the  spine  might  be  considered  the  unit  of  the  skele 
ton  :  the  head  was  only  the  uppermost  vertebra  transformed. 
"  The  plant  goes  from  knot  to  knot,  closing,  at  last,  with  the 
flower  and  the  seed.  So  the  tape-worm,  the  caterpillar,  goes 
from  knot  to  knot,  and  closes  with  the  head.  Man  and  the 
higher  animals  are  built  up  through  the  vertebra),  the  powers 
being  concentrated  in  the  head."  In  optics,  again,  he  rejected 
the  artificial  theory  of  seven  colors,  and  considered  that  every 
color  was  the  mixture  of  light  and  darkness  in  new  propor 
tions.  It  is  really  of  very  little  consequence  what  topic  he 
writes  upon.  He  sees  at  every  pore,  and  has  a  certain  gravi 
tation  towards  truth.  He  will  realize  what  you  say.  He  hates 
to  be  trifled  with,  and  to  be  made  to  say  over  again  some  old 
wife's  fable,  that  has  had  possession  of  men's  faith  these  thousand 
years.  He  may  as  well  see  if  it  is  true  as  another.  He  sifts 
it.  I  am  here,  he  would  say,  to  be  the  measure  and  judge  of 
these  things.  Why  should  I  take  them  on  trust  1  And,  there 
fore,  what  he  says  of  religion,  of  passion,  of  marriage,  of  man 
ners,  of  property,  of  paper  money,  of  periods  of  belief,  of 
omens,  of  luck,  or  whatever  else,  refuses  to  be  forgotten. 

Take  the  most  remarkable  example  that  could  occur  of 
this  tendency  to  verify  every  term  in  popular  use.  The 
Devil  had  played  an  important  part  in  mythology  in  all 
times.  Goethe  would  have  no  word  that  does  not  cover  a 
tiling.  The  same  measure  will  still  serve  :  "  I  have  never 
heard  of  any  crime  which  I  might  not  have  committed."  So 
he  flies  at  the  throat  of  this  imp.  He  shall  be  real ;  he  shall 
be  modern  ;  he  shall  be  European  ;  he  shall  dress  like  a  gentle 
man,  and  accept  the  manners,  and  walk  in  the  streets,  and  be 
well  initiated  in  the  life  of  Vienna,  and  of  Heidelberg,  in  1820, 
• — or  he  shall  not  exist.  Accordingly,  he  stripped  him  of 
mythologic  gear,  of  horns,  cloven  foot,  harpoon  tail,  brimstone, 
and  blue-fire,  and,  instead  of  looking  in  books  and  pictures, 
looked  for  him  in  his  own  mind,  in  every  shade  of  coldness, 


GOETHE;    OR,    THE    WRITER.  149 

selfishness,  and   unbelief  that,  in  crowds,  or  in  solitude-,  dark- 

en8  over  the  human  thought,  —  and  found  that  the  portrait 

gained  ivulity  and  terror  hy  every  tiling  he  added,  and  l>y 
every  tiling  he  took  away.  He  found  that  the"  essence  of  this 
hobgoblin,  which  liad  hovered  in  shadow  ahont  the  habitations 
of  men,  ever  since  there  were  men,  was  pure  intellect,  applied 
—  as  always  there  is  a  tendency — to  the  service  of  the  senses  : 
and  he  Hung  into  literature,  in  his  Mephistophcles,  the  first  or 
ganic  figure  that  has  been  added  for  some  ages,  and  which 
will  remain  as  long  as  the  Prometheus. 

1  have  no  design  to  enter  into  any  analysis  of  his  numerous 
works.  They  consist  of  translations,  criticisms,  dramas,  lyric 
and  every  other  description  of  poems,  literary  journals,  and 
portraits  of  distinguished  men.  Yet  I  cannot  omit  to  specify 
Wilhelm  Meister. 

Wilhelm  .Meister  is  a  novel  in  every  sense,  the  first  of  its 
kind,  called  by  its  admirers  the  only  delineation  of  modern 
society,  —  as  if  other  novels,  those  of  Scott,  for  example, 
dealt  with  costume  and  condition,  this  with  the  spirit  of  life. 
It  is  a  book  over  which  some  veil  is  still  drawn.  It  is  read 
by  very  intelligent  persons  with  wonder  and  delight.  It  is 
preferred  by  some  such  to  Hamlet,  as  a  work  of  genius.  I 
suppose,  no  book  of  this  century  can  compare  with  it  in  its 
delicious  sweetness,  so  new,  so  provoking  to  the  mind,  gratify 
ing  it  with  so  many  and  so  solid  thoughts,  just  insights  into 
life,  and  manners,  and  characters ;  so  many  good  hints  for  the 
conduct  of  life,  so  many  unexpected  glimpses  into  a  higher 
sphere,  and  never  a  trace  of  rhetoric  or  dulness.  A  very  pro 
voking  book  to  the  curiosity  of  young  men  of  genius,  but  a 
very  unsatisfactory  one.  Lovers  of  light  reading,  those  who 
look  in  it  for  the  entertainment  they  find  in  a  romance,  are 
disappointed.  On  the  other  hand,  those  who  begin  it  with  the 
higher  hope  to  read  in  it  a  worthy  history  of  genius,  and  the 
just  award  of  the  laurel  to  its  toils  and  denials,  have  also 
reason  to  complain.  We  had  an  English  romance  here,  not 
loni:  a'_r<>,  professing  to  embody  the  hope  of  a  new  age,  and  to 
unfold  the  political  hope  of  the  party  called  'Young  England/ 
in  which  the  only  reward  of  virtue  is  a  seat  in  parliament, 
and  a  peerage.  Goethe's  romance  has  a  conclusion  as  lame 
and  immoral.  George  Sand,  in  Consuelo  and  its  continuation, 
has  sketched  a  truer  and  more  dignified  picture.  In  the  pro 
of  the  story,  the  characters  of  the  hero  and  heroine  ex 
pand  at  a  rate  that  shivers  the  porcelain  chess-table  of  aristo- 


150  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN. 

cratic  convention :  they  quit  the  society  and  habits  of  their 
rank;  they  lose  their  wealth;  they  become  the  servants  of 
great  ideas,  and  of  the  most  generous  social  ends;  until,  at 
last,  the  hero,  who  is  the  centre  and  fountain  of  an  association 
for  the  rendering  of  the  noblest  benefits  to  the  human  race, 
no  longer  answers  to  his  own  titled  name  :  it  sounds  foreign 
and  remote  in  his  ear.  "I  am  only  man,"  he  says;  "  I  breathe 
and  work  for  man,"  and  this  in  poverty  and  extreme  sacrifices. 
Goethe's  hero,  on  the  contrary,  has  so  many  weaknesses  and 
impurities,  and  keeps  such  bad  company,  that  the  sober  Eng 
lish  public,  when  the  book  was  translated,  were  disgusted. 
And  yet  it  is  so  crammed  with  wisdom,  with  knowledge  of  the 
world,  and  with  knowledge  of  laws  ;  the  persons  so  truly  and 
subtly  drawn,  and  with  such  few  strokes,  and  not  a  word  too 
much,  the  book  remains  ever  so  new  and  unexhausted,  that 
we  must  even  let  it  go  its  way,  and  be  willing  to  get  what 
good  from  it  we  can,  assured  that  it  has  only  begun  its  office, 
and  has  millions  of  readers  yet  to  serve. 

The  argument  is  the  passage  of  a  democrat  to  the  aris 
tocracy,  using  both  words  in  their  best  sense.  And  this  pas 
sage  is  not  made  in  any  mean  or  creeping  way,  but  through 
the  hall  door.  Nature  and  character  assist,  and  the  rank  is 
made  real  by  sense  and  probity  in  the  nobles.  No  generous 
youth  can  escape  this  charm  of  reality  in  the  book,  so  that  it 
is  highly  stimulating  to  intellect  and  courage. 

The  ardent  and  holy  Novalis  characterized  the  book  as 
"  thoroughly  modern  and  prosaic  ;  the  romantic  is  completely 
levelled  in  it ;  so  is  the  poetry  of  nature  ;  the  wonderful.  The 
book  treats  only  of  the  ordinary  affairs  of  men  :  it  is  a  poeti 
cized  civic  and  domestic  story.  The  wonderful  in  it  is  expressly 
treated  as  fiction  and  enthusiastic  dreaming "  :  —  and  yet, 
what  is  also  characteristic,  Novalis  soon  returned  to  this  book, 
and  it  remained  his  favorite  reading  to  the  end  of  his  life. 

What  distinguishes  Goethe  for  French  and  English  readers, 
is,  a  property  which  he  shares  with  his  nation,  —  an  habitual 
reference  to  interior  truth.  In  England  and  in  America,  there 
is  a  respect  for  talent ;  and,  if  it  is  exerted  in  support  of  any 
ascertained  or  intelligible  interest  or  party,  or  in  regular  op 
position  to  any,  the  public  is  satisfied.  In  France,  there  is 
even  a  greater  delight  in  intellectual  brilliancy,  for  its  own 
sake.  And,  in  all  these  countries,  men  of  talent  write  from 
talent.  It  is  enough  if  the  understanding  is  occupied,  the 
taste  propitiated,  —  so  many  columns,  so  many  hours,  filled  in 


GOETIIK;    OK,    THK    WKITKIi.  151 

:i  lively  and  creditable  way.  The  Cerm'an  intellect  wants  the 
J-Yench  sprightliurss,  the  tine  practical  understanding  of  the 

Knglish,  and  the  American  adventure;  Imt  it  has  a  eertain 
probity,  whieh  never  rest.-;  in  a  superlicial  performance,  but 
asks  steadilv,  T<>  n-Jmt  <ml  /  A  (Jennan  public  asks  for  a  eon- 
trolling  sincerity.  Hero  is  aetivity  of  thought j  but  what  is 
it  I'm-  {  What  does  the  man  mean  {  "Whence,  whence  all  these 
thoughts  / 

Talent  alone  cannot  make  a  writer.  There  must  be  a  man 
behind  the  book  ;  a  personality  which,  by  birth  and  quality,  is 
pledged  to  the  doctrines  there  set  forth,  and  which  exists  to 
see  and  state  things  so,  and  not  otherwise  ;  holding  things  bo- 
eaiiM'  they  are  thin-s.  If  lie  cannot  rightly  express  himself 
to-day,  the  same  things  subsist,  and  will  open  themselves  to 
morrow.  There  lies  the  burden  on  his  mind,  —  the  burden  of 
truth  to  be  declared,  — more  or  less  understood  ;  and  it  con 
stitutes  his  business  and  calling  in  the  world,  to  sec  tln»<.« 
facts  through,  and  to  make  them  known.  What  signifies  that 
he  trips  and  stammers  ;  that  his  voice  is  harsh  or  hissing  ; 
that  his  method  or  his  tropes  are  inadequate  '?  That  m< 
will  iind  method  and  imagery,  articulation  and  melody.  Though 
he  were  dumb,  it  would  speak.  If  not,  —  if  there  be  no  such 
God's  word  in  the  man,  —  what  care  we  how  adroit,  how  fluent, 
how  brilliant  he  is  1 

It  makes  a  great  difference  to  the  force  of  any  sentence, 
whether  there  be  a  man  behind  it,  or  no.  In  the  learned  jour 
nal,  in  the  influential  newspaper,  I  discern  no  form  :  only  some 
•nsible  shadow  ;  oftener  some  moneyed  corporation,  or 
some  dangler,  who  hopes,  in  the  mask  and  robes  of  his  para 
graph,  to  pass  for  somebody.  But,  through  every  clause  and 
part  of  speech  of  a  right  book,  I  meet  the  eyes  of  the  most 
determined  of  men  ;  his  force  and  terror  inundate  every  word  : 
the  commas  and  dashes  are  alive  ;  so  that  the  writing  is  athletic 
and  nimble,  — can  go  far  and  live  long. 

In  England  and  America,  one  may  be  an  adept  in  the  writ 
ings  of  a  CJreck  or  Latin  poet,  without  any  poetic  taste  or  fire. 
That  a  man  lias  spent  years  on  Plato  and  Proclus,  does  not 
afford  a  presumption  that  he  holds  heroic  opinions,  or  under 
values  the  fashions  of  his  town.  P.ut  the  (Jermaii  nation  have 
the  most  ridl'-'dons  ^fod  faith  on  these  subjects;  the  student 
out  of  the  lecture-room,  still  broods  on  tl:  :  and  the 

professor  cannot  divest  himself  of  the  fancy,  that  the  truths 
of  philosophy  have  sonic  application  to  Berlin  and  Munich. 


152  EEPEESENTATIVE   MEN. 

This  earnestness  enables  them  to  outsee  men  of  much  more 
talent.  Hence,  almost  all  the  valuable  distinctions  which  are 
current  in  higher  conversation,  have  been  derived  to  us  from 
Germany.  But,  whilst  men  distinguished  for  wit  and  learning, 
in  England  and  France,  adopt  their  study  and  their  side  with 
a  certain  levity,  and  are  not  understood  to  be  very  deeply  en 
gaged,  from  grounds  of  character,  to  the  topic  or  the  part  they 
espouse,  —  Goethe,  the  head  and  body  of  the  German  nation, 
does  not  speak  from  talent,  but  the  truth  shines  through  :  he 
is  very  wise,  though  his  talent  often  veils  his  wisdom.  How 
ever  excellent  his  sentence  is,  he  has  somewhat  better  in  view. 
It  awakens  my  curiosity.  He  lias  the  formidable  independence 
which  converse  with  truth  gives ;  hear  you,  or  forbear,  his  fact 
abides  ;  and  your  interest  in  the  writer  is  not  confined  to  his 
story,  and  he  dismissed  from  memory,  when  he  has  performed 
his  task  creditably,  as  a  baker  when  he  has  left  his  loaf;  but 
his  work  is  the  least  part  of  him.  The  old  Eternal  Genius 
who  built  the  world  has  confided  himself  more  to  this  man 
than  to  any  other.  I  dare  not  say  that  Goethe  ascended  to  the 
highest  grounds  from  which  genius  has  spoken.  He  has  not 
worshipped  the  highest  unity  ;  he  is  incapable  of  a  self-sur 
render  to  the  moral  sentiment.  There  are  nobler  strains  in 
poetry  than  any  he  has  sounded.  There  are  writers  poorer  in 
talent,  whose  tone  is  purer,  and  more  touches  the  heart. 
Goethe  can  never  be  dear  to  men.  His  is  not  even  the  devo 
tion  to  pure  truth  ;  but  to  truth  for  the  sake  of  culture.  He 
has  no  aims  less  large  than  the  conquest  of  universal  nature, 
of  universal  truth,  to  be  his  portion  :  a  man  not  to  be  bribed, 
nor  deceived,  nor  overawed  ;  of  a  stoical  self-command  and 
self-denial,  and  having  one  test  for  all  men,  —  What  can  you 
teach  me  ?  All  possessions  are  valued  by  him  for  that  only  ; 
rank,  privileges,  health,  time,  being  itself. 

He  is  the  type  of  culture,  the  amateur  of  all  arts,  and 
sciences,  and  events  ;  artistic,  but  not  artist ;  spiritual,  but  not 
spiritualist.  There  is  nothing  he  had  not  right  to  know  :  there 
is  no  wreapon  in  the  armory  of  universal  genius  he  did  not  take 
into  his  hand,  but  with  peremptory  heed  that  he  should  not  be 
for  a  moment  prejudiced  by  his  instruments.  He  lays  a  ray 
of  light  under  every  fact,  and  between  himself  and  his  dearest 
property.  From  him  nothing  was  hid,  nothing  withholden. 
The  lurking  demons  sat  to  him,  and  the  saint  who  saw  the 
demons ;  and  the  metaphysical  elements  took  form.  "  Piety 
itself  is  no  aim,  but  only  a  means,  whereby,  through  purest 


GOETHE;    OR,    THE   WRITER. 

inward  peace,  we  may  attain  to  highest  culture."  And  his 
penetration  of  every  secret  of  tin-  tine  arts  will  make  Goetho 
still  more  statuesque.  His  all'ections  help  him,  like  women 
employed  by  Cicero  to  worm  out  the  secret  of  conspirators. 
Knmities  ho  has  none.  Enemy  of  him  you  maybe,  —  if  so 
you  shall  teach  him  aught  which  your  good-will  cannot,  — 
were  it  only  what  experience  will  accrue  from  your  ruin.  Kn- 
emy  and  welcome,  but  enemy  on  high  terms.  He  cannot  hn to 
anybody  ;  his  time  is  worth  too  much.  Temperamental  antag 
onisms  may  be  suffered,  but  like  feuds  of  emperors,  who  fight 
dignifiedly  across  kingdoms. 

His  autobiography,  under  the  title  of  "  Poetry  and  Truth 
out  of  my  Lite,"  is  the  expression  of  the  idea,  — now  familiar 
to  the  world  through  the  German  mind,  but  a  novelty  to  Kng- 
land,  Old  and  New,  when  that  hook  appeared, — that  a  man 
exists  for  culture  ;  not  for  what  he  can  accomplish,  but  for 
what  can  he  accomplished  in  him.  The  reaction  of  things  on 
the  man  is  the  only  noteworthy  result.  An  intellectual  man 
can  see  himself  as  a  third  person  ;  therefore  his  faults  and  de 
lusions  interest  him  equally  with  his  successes.  Though  he 
wishes  to  prosper  in  affairs,  he  wishes  more  to  know  the  history 
and  destiny  of  man;  whilst  the  clouds  of  egotists  drifting 
about  him  are  only  interested  in  a  low  success. 

This  idea  reigns  in  the  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit,  and  directs 
the  selection  of  the  incidents ;  and  nowise  the  external  impor 
tance  of  events,  the  rank  of  the  personages,  or  the  bulk  of  in 
comes.  Of  course,  the  book  affords  slender  materials  for  what 
would  be  reckoned  with  us  a  "  Life  of  Goethe  "  ;  —  few  dates  ; 
no  correspondence  ;  no  details  of  offices  or  employments  ;  no 
light  on  his  marriage ;  and,  a  period  of  ten  years,  that  should 
be  the  most  active  in  his  life,  after  his  settlement  at  Weimar, 
is  sunk  in  silence.  Meantime,  certain  love-affairs,  that  came 
to  nothing,  as  people  say,  have  the  strangest  importance  :  he 
cn.w.ls  us  with  details  :  —  certain  whimsical  opinions,  cosmogo 
nies,  and  religions  of  his  own  invention,  and,  especially  his 
relations  to  remarkable  minds,  and  to  critical  epochs  of 
thought  :  —  these  he  magnifies.  His  "  Daily  and  Yearly  Jour 
nal,"  his  "Italian  Travels,"  his  "  Campaign  in  France,''  find 
the  historical  part  of  his  "Theory  of  Colors,"  have  the  same 
interest.  In  the  last,  he  rapidly  notices  Kepler.  l;..-_'er  llaoni, 
Galileo,  Xewtoii,  Voltaire,  iV«-.  ;  and  the  charm  of  this  portion 
of  the  book  consists  in  the  simplest  statement  of  the  relation 
betwixt  these  grandees  of  European  scientific  history  and  him- 


154  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN. 

self;  the  mere  drawing  of  the  lines  from  Goethe  to-  Kepler, 
from  Goethe  to  Bacon,  from  Goethe  to  Newton.  The  draw 
ing  of  the  line  is  for  the  time  and  person,  a  solution  of  the 
formidable  problem,  and  gives  pleasure  when  Iphigenia  and 
Faust  do  not,  without  any  cost  of  invention  comparable  to 
that  of  Iphigenia  and  Faust. 

This  lawgiver  of  art  is  not  an  artist.  Was  it  that  he  knew 
too  much,  that  his  sight  was  microscopic,  and  interfered  with 
the  just  perspective,  the  seeing  of  the  whole  1  He  is  fragmen 
tary  ;  a  writer  of  occasional  poems,  and  of  an  encyclopaedia  of 
sentences.  When  he  sits  down  to  write  a  drama  or  a  tale,  he 
collects  and  sorts  his  observations  from  a  hundred  sides,  and 
combines  them  into  the  body  as  fitly  as  he  can.  A  great  deal 
refuses  to  incorporate  :  this  he  adds  loosely,  as  letters  of  the 
parties,  leaves  from  their  journals,  or  the  like.  A  great  deal 
still  is  left  that  will  not  find  any  place.  This  the  bookbinder 
alone  can  give  any  cohesion  to  :  and  hence,  notwithstanding 
the  looseness  of  many  of  his  works,  we  have  volumes  of  de 
tached  paragraphs,  aphorisms,  xenien,  £c. 

I  suppose  the  worldly  tone  of  his  tales  grew  out  of  the  cal 
culations  of  self-culture.  It  was  the  infirmity  of  an  admira 
ble  scholar,  who  loved  the  world  out  of  gratitude ;  who  knew 
where  libraries,  galleries,  architecture,  laboratories,  savans,  and 
leisure  were  to  be  had,  and  who  did  not  quite  trust  the  com 
pensations  of  poverty  and  nakedness.  Socrates  loved  Athens ; 
Montaigne,  Paris ;  and  Madame  de  Stae'l  said  she  was  only 
vulnerable  on  that  side  (namely,  of  Paris).  It  has  its  favor 
able  aspect.  All  the  geniuses  are  usually  so  ill-assorted  and 
sickly,  that  one  is  ever  wishing  them  somewhere  else.  We 
seldom  see  anybody  who  is  not  uneasy  or  afraid  to  live. 
There  is  a  slight  blush  of  shame  on  the  cheek  of  good  men  and 
aspiring  men,  and  a  spice  of  caricature.  But  this  man  was  en 
tirely  at  home  and  happy  in  his  century  and  the  world.  None 
was  so  fit  to  live,  or  more  heartily  enjoyed  the  game.  In  this 
jim  of  culture,  which  is  the  genius  of  his  works,  is  their  power. 
/The  idea  of  absolute,  eternal  truth,  without  reference  to  my 
I  own  enlargement  by  it,  is  higher.  The  surrender  to  the  tor- 
j  rent  of  poetic  inspiration  is  higher ;  but,  compared  with  any 
'  motives  on  which  books  are  written  in  England  and  America, 
this  is  very  truth,  and  has  the  power  to  inspire  which  belongs 
to  truth.  Thus  has  he  brought  back  to  a  book  some  of  its 
ancient  might  and  dignity. 

Goethe,    coming  into  an  over-civilized   time   and    country, 


GOETHE;    OR,   THE  WRITER.  155 

when  original  talent  was  oppressed  under  the  load  of  books 
and  mechanical  auxiliaries,  and  the  distracting  variety  of 
claims,  taught  men  how  to  dispose  of  this  mountainous  miscel 
lany,  and  make  it  subservient.  I  join  Napoleon  with  him,  as 
bring  both  representatives  of  the  impatience  and  reaction  of 
nature  against  the  inor<in?  of  conventions, — two  stern  real- 
ists,  who,  with  their  scholars,  have  severally  set  the  axe  at  the 
root  of  the  tree  of  cant  and  seeming,  for  this  time,  and  for  all 
time.  This  cheerful  laborer,  with  no  external  popularity  or 
provocation,  drawing  his  motive  and  his  plan  from  his  own 
breast,  tasked  himself  with  stints  for  a  giant,  and,  without  re 
laxation  or  rest,  except,  by  alternating  his  pursuits,  worked  on 
for  eighty  years  with  the  steadiness  of  his  first  zeal. 

It  is  the  last  lesson  of  modern  science,  that  the  highest  sim 
plicity  of  structure  is  produced,  not  by  few  elements,  but  by 
the  highest  complexity.  Man  is  the  most  composite  of  all 
creatures :  the  wheel-insect,  volvos  </l<>l><i{»r,  is  at  the  other  ex 
treme.  We  shall  learn  to  draw  rents  and  revenues  from  the 
immense  patrimony  of  the  old  and  the  recent  ages.  Goethe 
t (.'aches  courage,  and  the  equivalence  of  all  times;  that  the 
disadvantages  of  any  epoch  exist  only  to  the  faint-hearted 
Genius  hovers  with  his  sunshine  and  music  close  by  the  dark 
est  and  deafest  eras.  No  mortgage,  no  attainder,  will  hold  on 
men  or  hours.  The  world  is  young :  the  former  great  men 
call  to  us  affectionately.  We  too  must  write  Bibles,  to  unite 
again  the  heavens  and  the  earthly  world.  The  secret  of  ge 
nius  is  to  suffer  no  fiction  to  exist  for  us  ;  to  realize  all  that  we 
know ;  in  the  high  refinement  of  modern  life,  in  arts,  in  sci 
ences,  in  books,  in  men,  to  exact  good  faith,  reality,  and  a 
purpose;  and  first,  last,  midst,  and  without  end,  to  honor 
every  truth  by  use. 


ENGLISH    TRAITS 


ENGLISH     TRAITS. 

CHAPTER   I. 

FIRST   VISIT   TO    ENGLAND. 

I  HAVE  been  twice  in  England.  In  1833,  on  my  return 
from  :i  short  tour  in  Sicily,  Italy,  and  France,  I  crossed 
from  Boulogne,  ami  landed  in  London  at  the  Tower  stairs.  It 
was  a  dark  Sunday  morning  ;  there  were  few  people  in  the 
streets;  and  I  ivmeii'.her  the  pleasure  of  that  first  walk  on 
English  ground,  with  my  companion,  an  American  artist,  from 
the  Tower  up  through  Cheapside  and  the  Strand,  to  a  house 
in  Russell  Square,  whither  we  had  been  recommended  to  good 
chambers.  For  the  first  time  for  many  months  we  were  forced 
to  check  the  saucy  habit  of  travel ]«•?•>'  criticism,  as  we  could 
no  longer  speak  aloud  in  the  streets  without  being  understood. 
The  shop-signs  spoke  our  language  :  our  country  names  wrre 
on  the  door-plates  ;  and  the  public  and  private  buildings  wore 
a  more  native  and  wonted  front. 

Like  most  young  men  at  that  time,  I  was  much  indebted  to 
the  men  of  Edinburgh,  and  of  the  Edinburgh  Ileview, — to 
Jeffrey,  Mackintosh,  Hallam,  and  to  Scott,  Playfair,  and  De 
Quincey;  and  my  narrow  and  desultory  reading  had  inspired 
the  wish  to  see  the  faces  of  three  or  four  writers,  —  Coleridge, 
Wordsworth,  Landor,  DC  Quincey,  and  the  latest  and  strongest 
contributor  to  the  critical  journals,  Carlyle;  and  I  suppose  if 
I  had  sifted  the  reasons  that  led  me  to  Kurope,  when  I  was  ill 
and  was  advised  to  travel,  it  was  mainly  the  attraction  of  these 
persons.  If  Goethe  had  been  still  living,  I  might  have  wan 
dered  into  German v  also.  Hesides  those  1  have  named  (for 
Scott  was  dead),  there  was  not  in  Britain  the  man  living  whom 
1  eaivd  to  hehold,  unless  it  were  the  Duke  of  Wellington, 
whom  I  afterwards  saw  at  Westminster  Abbey,  at  the  funeral 


160  ENGLISH  TKAITS. 

of  Wilberforce.  The  young  scholar  fancies  it  happiness  enough 
to  live  with  people  who  can  give  an  inside  to  the  world  ;  with 
out  reflecting  that  they  are  prisoners,  too,  of  their  own  thought, 
and  cannot  apply  themselves  to  yours.  The  conditions  of 
literary  success  are  almost  destructive  of  the  best  social  power, 
as  they  do  not  leave  that  frolic  liberty  which  only  can  encoun 
ter  a  companion  on  the  best  terms.  It  is  probable  you  left 
some  obscure  comrade  at  a  tavern,  or  in  the  farms,  with  right 
mother-wit,  and  equality  to  life,  when  you  crossed  sea  and  land 
to  play  bo-peep  with  celebrated  scribes.  I  have,  however, 
found  writers  superior  to  their  books,  and  I  cling  to  my  first 
belief,  that  a  strong  head  will  dispose  fast  enough  of  these  im 
pediments,  and  give  one  the  satisfaction  of  reality,  the  sense 
of  having  been  met,  and  a  larger  horizon. 

On  looking  over  the  diary  of  my  journey  in  1833,  I  find 
nothing  to  publish  in  my  memoranda  of  visits  to  places.  But 
I  have  copied  the  few  notes  I  made  of  visits  to  persons,  as  they 
respect  parties  quite  too  good  and  too  transparent  to  the  whole 
world  to  make  it  needful  to  affect  any  prudery  of  suppression 
about  a  few  hints  of  those  bright  personalities. 

At  Florence,  chief  among  artists,  I  found  Horatio  Greenough, 
the  American  sculptor.  His  face  was  so  handsome,  and  his 
person  so  well  formed,  that  he  might  be  pardoned,  if,  as  was 
alleged,  the  face  of  his  Medora,  and  the  figure  of  a  colossal 
Achilles  in  clay,  were  idealizations  of  his  own.  Greenough  was 
a  superior  man,  ardent  and  eloquent,  and  all  his  opinions  had 
elevation  and  magnanimity.  He  believed  that  the  Greeks  had 
wrought  in  schools  or  fraternities,  —  the  genius  of  the  master 
imparting  his  design  to  his  friends,  and  inflaming  them  with  it, 
and  when  his  strength  was  spent,  a  new  hand,  with  equal  heat, 
continued  the  work ;  and  so  by  relays,  until  it  was  finished  in 
every  part  with  equal  fire.  This  was  necessary  in  so  refractory 
a  material  as  stone  ;  and  he  thought  art  would  never  prosper 
until  we  left  our  shy  jealous  ways,  and  worked  in  society  as 
they.  All  his  thoughts  breathed  the  same  generosity.  He 
was  an  accurate  and  a  deep  man.  He  was  a  votary  of  the 
Greeks,  and  impatient  of  Gothic  art.  His  paper  on  Architect 
ure,  published  in  1843,  announced  in  advance  the  leading 
thoughts  of  Mr.  Ruskin  on  the  morality  in  architecture,  not 
withstanding  the  antagonism  in  their  views  of  the  history  of 
art.  I  have  a  private  letter  from  him,  —  later,  but  respecting 
the  same  period,  —  in  which  he  roughly  sketches  his  own 
theory.  "  Here  is  my  theory  of  structure  :  A  scientific  ar- 


FIRST   VISIT   TO   EN*  CLAN  I  >.  1G1 

rangement  of  spaces  and  forms  to  functions  ami  to  site  ;  an 
emphasis  of  features  proportioned  to  their  <//'"</"'' l!  importance 
in  function  ;  color  and  ornament  to  be  decided  and  arranged 
and  varied  bv  strictly  organic  laws,  having  a  distinct  reason 
for  each  decision  ;  the  entire  and  immediate  banishment  of  all 

-liiir  and  make  believe." 

.i.uigh  brought  UK-',  through  a  coimnon  friend,  an  invi 
tation  from  Mr.  Landor,  who  lived  ;it  San  Domeiiiea  di  Fio- 
sole.  On  the  IMh  May  I  dined  with  Mr.  Landor.  1  found 
him  nol.le  and  courteous,  living  in  a  cloud  of  pictures  at  his 
Villa  liheranlesca,  a  fine  house  commanding  a  beautiful  land 
scape.  1  had  inferred  from  his  books,  or  magnified  from  some 
anecdotes,  an  impression  of  Achillean  wrath,  —  an  untamable 
petulance.  I  do  not  know  whether  the  imputation  were  just 
or  not,  but  certainly  on  this  May  day  his  courtesy  veiled  that 
haughty  mind,  and"  he  was  the  most  patient  and  gentle  of 
'  He  praised  the  beautiful  cyclamen  which  grows  all 
a!  tout  Florence;  he  admired  Washington ;  talked  of  Words 
worth.  Byron,  Massinger,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  To  be 
sure,  he  is  decided  in  his  opinions,  likes  to  surprise,  and  is  well 
content  to  impress,  if  possible,  his  English  whim  upon  the  im 
mutable  past.  No  great  man  ever  had  a  great  son,  if  Philip 
and  Alexander  be  not  an  exception  ;  and  Philip  he  calls  the  '• 
greater  man.  In  art,  he  loves  the  Greeks,  and  in  sculpture, 
them  only.  He  prefers  the  Venus  to  even-thing  else,  and,  af 
ter  that,  the  head  of  Alexander,  in  the  gallery  here.  He  pre 
fers  John  of  Bologna  to  Michel  Angelo  ;  in  painting,  Ratfaelle  ; 
and  shares  the  growing  taste  for  Perugino  and  the  early  mas 
ters.  The  (I reek  histories  he  thought  the  only  g(.<.d  ;  and  af 
ter  them,  Voltaire's.  I  could  not  make  him  praise  Mackintosh, 
nor  my  more  recent  friends  ;  Montaigne  very  cordially,  — 
and  Charron  also,  which  seemed  nndiscri initiating.  "  He 
thought  Degerando  indebted  to  "  Lucas  on  Happiness"  and 
"Lucas  on  Holiness"!  He  pestered  me  with  Southey ;  but 
who  is  Southey  1 

He  invited  me  to  breakfast  on  Friday.  On  Friday  I  did 
not  fail  to  go,  and  this  time  with  (In-enough.  He  entertained 
us  at  once  with  reciting  half  a  dozen  hexameter  lines  of  Julius 

's  !  —  from  Donatus,  he  said.  He  glorified  Lord  Ches 
terfield  more  than  was  necessary,  and  undervalued  Burke,  and 
undervalued  So  rates  ;  designated  as  three  of  the  greatest  of 
men,  Washington.  Phocion,  and  Tinioleon  ;  much  as  our  po- 
mologists,  in  their  lists,  select  the  three  or  the  six  best  pears 


162  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

"  for  a  small  orchard  "  ;  and  did  not  even  omit  to  remark  the 
similar  termination  of  their  names.  "  A  great  man,"  he  said, 
"  should  make  great  sacrifices,  and  kill  his  hundred  oxen,  with 
out  knowing  whether  they  would  be  consumed  by  gods  and 
heroes,  or  whether  the  flies  would  eat  them."  I  had  visited 
Professor  Amici,  who  had  shown  me  his  microscopes,  magnify 
ing  (it  was  said)  two  thousand  diameters ;  and  I  spoke  of  the 
uses  to  which  they  were  applied.  Landor  despised  entomology, 
yet,  in  the  same  breath,  said,  "  the  sublime  was  in  a  grain  of 
dust."  I  suppose  I  teased  him  about  recent  writers,  but  he 
professed  never  to  have  heard  of  Herschel,  not  even  by  name. 
One  room  was  full  of  pictures,  which  he  likes  to  show,  espe 
cially  one  piece,  standing  before  which,  he  said  "  he  would 
give  fifty  guineas  to  the  man  that  would  swear  it  was  a 
Domeniehino."  I  was  more  curious  to  see  his  library,  but 

Mr.  H ,  one  of  the  guests,  told  me  that  Mr.  Landor  gives 

away  his  books,  and  has  never  more  than  a  dozen  at  a  time  in 
his  house. 

Mr.  Landor  carries  tr  its  height  the  love  of  freak  which  the 
English  delight  to  indulge,  as  if  to  signalize  their  command 
ing  freedom.  He  has  a  wonderful  brain,  despotic,  violent,  and 
inexhaustible,  meant  for  a  soldier,  by  what  chance  converted 
to  letters,  in  which  there  is  not  a  style  nor  a  tint  not  known 
to  him,  yet  with  an  English  appetite  for  action  and  heroes. 
The  thing  done  avails,  and  not  what  is  said  about  it.  An 
original  sentence,  a  step  forward,  is  worth  more  than  all  the 
censures.  Landor  is  strangely  undervalued  in  England  ;  usually 
ignored  ;  and  sometimes  savagely  attacked  in  the  Reviews. 
The  criticism  may  be  right  or  wrong,  and  is  quickly  forgot 
ten  ;  but  year  after  year  the  scholar  must  still  go  back  to 
Landor  for  a  multitude  of  elegant  sentences,  —  for  wisdom, 
wit,  and  indignation  that  are  unforgetable. 

From  London,  on  the  5th  August,  I  went  to  Highgate,  and 
wrote  a  note  to  Mr.  Coleridge,  requesting  leave  to  pay  my  re 
spects  to  him.  It  was  near  noon.  Mr.  Coleridge  sent  a  ver 
bal  message,  that  he  was  in  bed,  but  if  I  would  call  after  one 
o'clock,  he  would  see  me.  I  returned  at  one,  and  he  appeared, 
a  short,  thick  old  man,  with  bright  blue  eyes  and  fine  clear 
complexion,  leaning  on  his  cane.  He  took  snuff  freely,  which 
presently  soiled  his  cravat  and  neat  black  suit.  He  asked 
whether  I  knew  Allston,  and  spoke  warmly  of  his  merits  and 
doings  when  he  knew  him  in  Rome  ;  what  a  master  of  the 


FIRST   VISIT   TO  ENGLAND.  1G3 

Titianosquo    ho    was.    AC..    .V.-.      He  spoke  of   Dr.   ('banning. 
It  \\.isan  unspeakable  misfortune  that  lie  should  have  turned 

cut  a  I'liitarian  after  all.  On  this,  lit-  burst  iitt«.  a  declama 
tion  on  tho  lolly  and  ignorance  of  I  nitariaiiism, —  its  high 
unreasonableness  :  and  taking  up  Bishop  XYaterland's  Look, 
which  lay  on  the  table,  ho  read  with  vehemence  two  or  three 
\\ritt i'n  l»y  hiiuselt'  in  tho  fly-loavos,  —  passages,  too, 
which,  I  believe,  tiro  printed  in  tho  "Aids  to  lletlcction." 
\Vhen  he  stopped  to  take  breath,  1  interposed,  that,  "  whilst  1 
highly  valued  all  his  explanations,  1  was  hound  to  toll  him  that 
1  vafl  horn  and  hred  a  I  nitarian."  "Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  sup 
posed  so";  and  continued  as  before.  *  It  was  a  wonder,  that 
after  so  many  ages  of  unquestioning  acquiescence  in  the  doc 
trine  of  St.  Paul, — the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity,  which  was 
also,  according  to  Philo  Jiuheus,  the  doctrine  of  the  Jews  lie- 
lore  Christ, — this  handful  of  I'ricstleians  should  take  on 
themselves  to  deny  it,  tfcc.,  &c.  He  was  very  sorry  that  Dr. 
I'hanning,  —  a  man  to  whom  he  looked  up,  —  no,  to  say  that 
he  looked  t'j>  to  him  would  be  to  speak  falsely;  but  a  man 
whom  he  looked  at  with  so  much  interest, — should  embrace 
such  views.  AYhcn  he  saw  Dr.  ('banning,  be  bad  hinted  to 
him  that  bo  was  afraid  he  loved  Christianity  for  what  was 
lovely  and  excellent,  —  he  loved  the  good  in  it,  and  not  the- 
true  ;  and  I  tell  you,  sir,  that  I  have  known  ton  persons  who 
loved  the  good,  for  one  person  who  loved  the  true  ;  but  it  is  a 
far  greater  virtue  to  love  the  true  for  itself  alone,  than  to  love 
the  nood  for  itself  alone.  He  (Coleridge)  knew  all  about  Cni- 
tarianism  perfectly  well,  because  he  bad  once  been  a  I'nitari- 
an,  and  knew  what  qn:;ckery  it  was.  He  had  been  called  "the 
rising  star  of  Unitarianism."  '  He  went  on  defining,  or  rath 
er  refining  :  '  The  Trinitarian  doctrine  was  realism  ;  the  idea  of 
God  was  not  essential,  but  super-essential  ';  talked  of  trinixni 
and  /r//v//-/.v//>,  and  much  more,  of  which  I  only  caught  this  : 
'•  that  the  will  was  that  by  which  a  person  is  a  person  ;  because, 
if  one  should  push  me  in  the  street,  and  so  I  should  force  the 
man  next  me  into  the  kennel,  I  should  at  once  exclaim,  "  I  did 
not  do  it.  sir,"  meaning  it  was  not  my  will.'  And  this  also  : 
'  that  if  you  should  insist  on  your  faith  here1  in  England,  and  I 
on  mine,  mine  would  be  the  hotter  side  of  the  fagot.' 

I  took  advantage  of  a  pause  to  say,  that  ho  had  many 
readers  of  all  religious  opinions  in  America,  and  I  proceeded 
to  inquire  if  the  "extract"  from  the  Independent's  pamphlet, 
in  the  third  volume  of  the  Friend,  were  a  veritable  quotation. 


164  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

He  replied  that  it  was  really  taken  from  a  pamphlet  in  hia 
possession,  entitled  "  A  Protest  of  one  of  the  Independents," 
or  something  to  that  effect.  I  told  him  how  excellent  I 
thought  it,  and  how  much  I  wished  to  see  the  entire  work. 
"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  the  man  was  a  chaos  of  truths,  but  lacked 
the  knowledge  that  God  was  a  god  of  order.  Yet  the  passage 
would  no  doubt  strike  you  more  in  the  quotation  than  in  the 
original,  for  I  have  filtered  it." 

When  I  rose  to  go,  he  said,  "  I  do  not  know  whether  you 
care  about  poetry,  but  I  will  repeat  some  verses  I  lately  made 
on  my  baptismal  anniversary  "  ;  and  he  recited  with  strong  em 
phasis,  standing,  ten  or  twelve  lines,  beginning,  — 

"  Born  unto  God  in  Christ —  " 

He  inquired  where  I  had  been  travelling ;  and  on  learning 
that  I  had  been  in  Malta  and  Sicily,  he  compared  one  island 
with  the  other,  '  repeating  what  he  had  said  to  the  Bishop  of 
London  when  he  returned  from  that  country,  that  Sicily  was 
an  excellent  school  of  political  economy ;  for,  in  any  town 
there,  it  only  needed  to  ask  what  the  government  enacted, 
and  reverse  that  to  know  what  ought  to  be  done ;  it  was  the 
most  felicitously  opposite  legislation  to  anything  good  and 
wise.  There  were  only  three  things  which  the  government 
had  brought  into  that  garden  of  delights,  namely,  itch,  pox, 
and  famine  ;  whereas,  in  Malta,  the  force  of  law  and  mind 
was  seen,  in  making  that  barren  rock  of  semi-Saracen  inhab 
itants  the  seat  of  population  and  plenty.'  Going  out,  he 
showed  me  in  the  next  apartment  a  picture  of  Allston's,  and 
told  me  'that  Montague,  a  picture-dealer,  once  came  to  see 
him,  and,  glancing  towards  this,  said,  "  Well,  you  have  got  a 
picture  !  "  thinking  it  the  work  of  an  old  master ;  afterwards, 
Montague,  still  talking  with  his  back  to  the  canvas,  put  up 
his  hand  and  touched  it,  and  exclaimed,  "  By  Heaven !  this 
picture  is  not  ten  years  old "  :  —  so  delicate  and  skilful  was 
that  man's  touch.' 

I  was  in  his  company  for  about  an  hour,  but  find  it  impos 
sible  to  recall  the  largest  part  of  his  discourse,  which  was 
often  like  so  many  printed  paragraphs  in  his  book,  —  perhaps 
the  same,  —  so  readily  did  he  fall  into  certain  commonplaces. 
As  I  might  have  foreseen,  the  visit  was  rather  a  spectacle  than 
a  conversation,  of  no  use  beyond  the  satisfaction  of  my  curi 
osity.  He  was  old  and  preoccupied,  and  could  not  bend  to  a 
new  companion  and  think  with  him. 


FIRST    VISIT   TO   ENGLAND.  165 

From  Edinburgh  I  went  to  the  Highlands.  On  my  return, 
I  came  from  lila^ow  t»  Dumfries,  :uul  being  intent  on  deliver 
ing  a  letter  which  I  had  brought  from  Rome,  inquired  for 
Craigenputtoek.  It  was  a  farm  in  Nitlisdale,  in  the  parish  of 
Dunscore,  sixteen  miles  distant.  No  public  coach  passed  near 
it,  so  1  took  a  private  carriage  from  the  inn.  1  found  the 
house  uniid  desolate  heathery  hills,  where  the  lonely  scholar 
nourished  his  mighty  heart.  Carlyle  was  a  man  from  his 
youth,  an  author  who  did  not  need  to  hide  from  his  readers, 
and  as  absolute  a  man  of  the  world,  unknown  and  exiled  on 
that  hill-farm,  as  if  holding  on  his  own  terms  what  is  best  in 
London.  He  was  tall  and  gaunt,  with  a  cliff-like  brow,  self- 
->ed.  and  holding  his  extraordinary  ]>owers  of  conversa 
tion  in  easy  command  ;  clinging  to  his  northern  accent  with 
evident  relish;  full  of  lively  anecdote,  and  with  a  streaming 
humor,  which  floated  everything  he  looked  upon.  His  talk 
playfully  exalting  the  familiar  objects,  put  the  companion  at 
once  into  an  acquaintance  with  his  Lars  and  Lemurs,  and  it 
was  very  pleasant  to  learn  what  was  predestined  to  be  a  pretty 
mythology.  Few  were  the  objects  and  lonely  the  man,  "  not 
a  person  to  speak  to  within  sixteen  miles  except  the  minister 
of  Dunseore"  ;  so  that  books  inevitably  m;ide  his  topics. 

IJe  had  names  of  his  own  for  all  the  matters  familiar  to  his 
discourse.  "  Blrfck wood's  "  was  the  "  sand  maga/ine  "  ;  "  Fra- 
ser's"  nearer  approach  to  possibility  of  life  was  the  "  mud 
ma<_ra/ine";  a  piece  of  road  near  by  that  marked  some  failed 
enterprise  was  the  "grave  of  the  last  sixpence."  When  too 
much  praise  of  any  genius  annoyed  him,  he  professed  hugely 
to  admi  v  the  talent  shown  by  his  pig.  He  had  spent  much 
time  and  contrivance  in  confining  the  poor  beast  to  one  en 
closure  in  his  pen,  but  pig,  by  great  strokes  of  judgment,  h;id 
found  out  how  to  let  a  board  down,  and  had  foiled  him.  For 
all  that,  he  still  thought  man  the  most  plastic  little  fellow  in 
the  planet,  and  he  liked  Nero's  death,  "  (Jn<ilix  <i,-fif<.r  pern  /* 
b  tter  than  most  history.  He  worships  a  man  that  will  mani 
fest  any  truth  to  him.  At  one  time  he  had  inquired  and  read 
a  good  deal  about  America.  Landor's  principle  was  mere  re- 
bellion,  and  tlwt  he  feared  was  the  American  principle.  The 
be*t  thing  he  knew  of  that  country  was,  that  in  it  a  man  can 
have  meat  for  his  labor.  He  had  read  in  Stewart's  book,  that 
when  he  inquired  in  a  New  York  hotel  for  the  Boots,  he  had 
been  shown  across  the  street  and  had  found  Mungo  in  his  own 
house  dining  on  roast  turkey. 


166  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

We  talked  of  books.  Plato  he  does  not  read,  and  he  dis 
paraged  Socrates ;  and,  when  pressed,  persisted  in  making 
Mirabeau  a  hero.  Gibbon  he  called  the  splendid  bridge  from 
the  old  world  to  the  new.  His  own  reading  had  been  multi 
farious.  Tristram  Shandy  was  one  of  his  first  books  after 
Robinson  Crusoe,  and  Robertson's  America  an  early  favorite. 
Rousseau's  Confessions  had  discovered  to  him  that  he  was  not 
a  dunce ;  and  it  was  now  ten  years  since  he  had  learned  Ger 
man,  by  the  advice  of  a  man  who  told  him.  he  would  find  in 
that  language  what  he  wanted. 

He  took  despairing  or  satirical  views  of  literature  at  this 
moment ;  recounted  the  incredible  sums  paid  in  one  year  by 
the  great  booksellers  for  puffing.  Hence  it  conies  that  no 
newspaper  is  trusted  now,  no  books  are  bought,  and  the  book 
sellers  are  on  the  eve  of  bankruptcy. 

He  still  returned  to  English  pauperism,  the  crowded  coun 
try,  the  selfish  abdication  by  public  men  of  all  that  public  per 
sons  should  perform.  '  Government  should  direct  poor  men 
what  to  do.  Poor  Irish  folk  come  wandering  over  these  moors. 
My  dame  makes  it  a  rule  to  give  to  every  son  of  Adam  bread 
to  eat,  and  supplies  his  wants  to  the  next  house.  But  here 
are  thousands  of  acres  which  might  give  them  all  meat,  and 
nobody  to  bid  these  poor  Irish  go  to  the  moor  and  tillrit. 
They  burned  the' stacks,  and  so  found  a  way  "to  force  the  rich 
people  to  attend  to  them.' 

We  went  out  to  walk  over  long  hills,  and  looked  at  Criffel, 
then  without  his  cap,  and  down  into  Wordsworth's  country. 
There  we  sat  down,  and  talked  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul. 
It  was  not  Carlyle's  fault  that  we  talked  on  that  topic,  for  he 
had  the  natural  disinclination  of  every  nimble  spirit  to  bruise 
itself  against  walls,  and  did  not  like  to  place  himself  where  no 
step  can  be  taken.  But  he  was  honest  and  true,  and  cognizant 
of  the  subtile  links  tha,t  bind  ages  together,  and  saw  how  every 
event  affects  all  the  future.  '  Christ  died  on  the  tree  :  that 
built  Dunscore  kirk  yonder:  that  brought  you  and  me  to 
gether.  Time  has  only  a  relative  existence.' 

He  was  already  turning  his  eyes  towards  London  with  a 
scholar's  appreciation.  London  is  the  heart  of  the  world,  he 
said,  wonderful  only  from  the  mass  of  human  beings.  He 
liked  the  huge  machine.  Each  keeps  its  own  round.  The 
baker's  boy  brings  muffins  to  the  window  at  a  fixed  hour  every 
day,  and  that  is  all  the  Londoner  knows  or  wishes  to  know  on 
the  subject.  But  it  turned  out  good  men.  He  named  certain 


rillST    VISIT   TO    EXCLAXD.  1G7 

individuals,  especially  one  man  of  letters,  his  friend,  the  best 
mind  he  knew,  whom  London  had  well  served. 

On  the  L'Sth  August,  I  went  to  Rydal  Mount,  to  pay  my  re 
spects  to  Mr.  Wordsworth.  His  daughters  called  in  their 
father,  a  plain,  elderly,  white-haired  man.  not  prepossessing, 
and  disfigured  l>y  green  gng^lrs.  He  sat  down,  and  talked 
with  great  simplicity.  He  had  just  returned  from  a  journey. 
His  health  was  good,  but  he  had  broken  a  tooth  hy  a  fall, 
when  walking  with  two  lawyers,  and  had  said,  that  he  was 
glad  it  did  not  happen  forty  years  ago  ;  whereupon  they  had 
praised  his  philosophy. 

He  had  much  t«>  say  of  America,  the  more  that  it  gave  oc 
casion  for  his  favorite  topic, — that  society  is  being  enlightened 
by  a  superficial  tuition,  out  of  all  proportion  to  its  hem-  re 
strained  by  moral  culture.  Schools  do  no  good..  Tuition  is 

lucation.  He  thinks  more  of  the  education  of  circum 
stances  than  of  tuition.  T  is  not  a  question  whether  there 
ar  -  oifences  of  which  the  la.v  takes  cogni/.ance,  but  whether 
tin-re  are  oflfenc  H  "f  which  the  law  does  not  take  cognizance. 
Sin  is  what  he  fears,  and  how  society  is  to  escape  without 
grayest  mischiefs  from  this  source  -<  !!••  has  even  said,  what 
seem -d  a  paradox,  that  they  needed  a  civil  war  in  America,  to 
teaeh  the  necessltv  of  knitting  the  so -i  il  ties  stronger.  'There 
may  be,'  he  said,  '  in  Am  erica  so-ue  vulgarity  in  manner,  but 
th.it  's  not  important.  That  comes  of  the  pioneer  state  of 
things.  But  I  fear  th  -y  are  too  niueh  given  to  the  making  of 

.  ;  and  secondly,  to  politics;  that  they  make  political 
distinction  the  end,  and  not  the  means.  And  I  fear  they  lack 
a  date  of  men  of  leisure, —in  short,  of  gentlemen,  —  to  give  a 

•f  honor  to  the  community.  I  am  told  that  things  are 
1  of  iii  th  •  second  class  of  society  there,  which,  in  Mug- 
land, — (Jod  knows,  are  done  in  Kn-Jand  evrry  day.  —but 
would  never  be  spoken  of.  In  America  I  wish  to  know  not 
how  many  churches  or  schools,  but  what  newspapers^  My 
friend,  Colonel  Hamilton,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  who  was  :i 
year  in  Americi.  me  that  tin-  newspapers  are  atrocious, 

and  accuse   members   «»f   Congress  of    stealing    spoons!'      He 
was  against  takin-j;  off  the  tax  <>n  newspapers  in  Kngland.  which 

formers  represent  as  a  tax  upon  knowledge.  for  th 
son,  that  tliev  would  be  inundated  with  base  prints       He  viid, 
he  talked  on   ]>olitical  aspects,  flu-   he  wished  to    impress  on  me 
and  all  good  Americans  to  cultivate  the   moral,  the  conserva- 


168  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

tive,  &c.,  &c.,  and  never  to  call  into  action  the  physical 
strength  of  the  people,  as  had  just  now  been  done  in  England 
in  the  Reform  Bill,  —  a  thing  prophesied  by  Delolme.  He  al 
luded  once  or  twice  to  his  conversation  with  Dr.  Charming, 
who  had  recently  visited  him  (laying  his  hand  on  a  particular 
chair  in  which  the  Doctor  had  sat). 

The  conversation  turned  on  books.  Lucretius  he  esteems  a 
far  higher  poet  than  Virgil  :  not  in  his  system,  which  is 
nothing,  but  in  his  power  of  illustration.  Faith  is  necessary 
to  explain  anything,  and  to  reconcile  the  foreknowledge  of 
God  with  human  evil.  Of  Cousin  (whose  lectures  we  had  all 
been  reading  in  Boston)  he  knew  only  the  name. 

I  inquired  if  he  had  read  Carlyle's  critical  articles  and 
translations.  He  said,  he  thought  him  sometimes  insane.  He 
proceeded  to  abuse  Goethe's  Wilhelm  Meister  heartily.  It 
was  full  of  all  manner  of  fornication.  It  was  like  the  crossing 
of  Hies  in  the  air.  He  had  never  gone  further  than  the  first 
part ;  so  disgusted  was  he  that  he  threw  the  book  across  the 
room.  I  deprecated  this  wrath,  and  said  what  I  could  for  the 
better  parts  of  the  book  ;  and  he  courteously  promised  to  look 
at  it  again.  Carlyle,  he  said,  wrote  most  obscurely.  He  was 
clever  and  deep,  but  he  defied  the  sympathies  of  everybody. 
Even  Mr.  Coleridge  wrote  more  clearly,  though  he  had  always 
wished  Coleridge  would  write  more  to  be  understood.  He  led 
me  out  into  his  garden,  and  showed  me  the  gravel  walk  in 
which  thousands  of  his  lines  were  composed.  His  eyes  are 
much  inflamed.  This  is  no  loss,  except  for  reading,  be 
cause  he  never  writes  prose,  and  of  poetry  he  carries 
even  hundreds  of  lines  in  his  head  before  writing  them. 
He  had  just  returned  from  a  visit  to  Staffa,  and  within 
three  days  had  made  three  sonnets  on  Fingal's  Cave, 
and  was  composing  a  fourth,  when  he  was  called  in  to 
see  me.  He  said,  "  If  you  are  interested  in  my  verses,  per 
haps  you  will  like  to  hear  these  lines."  I  gladly  assented  ;  and 
he  recollected  himself  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  stood  forth 
and  repeated,  one  after  the  other,  the  three  entire  sonnets 
with  great  animation.  I  fancied  the  second  and  third  more 
beautiful  than  his  poems  are  wont  to  be.  The  third  is  ad 
dressed  to  the  flowers,  which,  he  said,  especially  the  ox-eye 
daisy,  are  very  abundant  on  the  top  of  the  rock.  The  second 
alludes  to  the  name  of  the  cave,  which  is  "  Cave  of  Music  " ; 
the  first  to  the  circumstance  of  its  being  visited  by  the  pro 
miscuous  company  of  the  steamboat. 


FIRST   VISIT   TO   ENGLAND.  1G9 

This  recitation  was  so  unlooked  for  and  surprising, — he, 
the  old  \\onlsworth,  standing  apart,  and  reciting  to  me  in  a- 
garden-walk,  like  a  school-boy  declaiming,  —  that  1  at  first 
was  near  to  laugh;  hut  recollecting  myself,  that  1  had  coino 
thus  far  to  see  a  poet,  and  lie  was  chanting  poems  to  me,  I 
naw  that  lie  w;us  right  and!  was  im>ng,  and  gladly  gave  myself 
up  to  hear.  I  told  him  how  much  the  lew  printed  extracts 
had  quickened  the  desire  to  possess  his  unpublished  poems. 
He  replied,  he  never  was  in  haste  to  publish  ;  partly,  because 
he  corrected  a  good  deal,  and  every  alteration  is  ungraciously 
received  after  printing;  but  what  he  had  written  Vould  be 
printed,  \\hether  he  lived  or  died.  1  said,  "  Tintern  Abbey'' 
appeared  to  be  the  favorite  poem  with  the  public,  but  more 
contemplative  readers  preferred  the  first  l>ooks  of  the  "  Excur 
sion,"  and  the  Sonnets.  He  said,  "  Yes,  they  are  better."  He 
preferred  such  of  his  poems  as  touched  the  aifections,  to  any 
others;  for  whatever  is  didactic  —  what  theories  of  society, 
and  so  on  —  might  perish  quickly  ;  but  whatever  combined  a 
truth  with  an  ali'ection  was  Krr,^a  (s  act,  good  to-day  and  good 
forever.  He  cited  the  sonnet  "On  the  feelings  of  a  high- 
minded  Spaniard,"  which  he  preferred  to  any  other  (I  so  un 
derstood  him),  and  the  "  Two  Voices  " ;  and  quoted,  with  evi 
dent  pleasure,  the  verses  addressed  "  To  the  Skylark."  In 
this  connection,  he  said  of  the  Newtonian  theory,  that  it  might 
yet  be  superseded  and  forgotten  ;  and  Dalton's  atomic  theory. 

When  1  prepared  to  depart,  he  said  he  wished  to  show  me 
what  a  common  person  in  Kngland  could  do,  and  he  led  me 
into  the  enclosure  of  his  clerk,  a  young  man,  to  whom  he  had 
given  this  slip  of  ground,  which  was  laid  out,  or  its  natural 
capabilities  shown,  with  much  taste.  He  then  said  he  would 
show  me  a  better  way  towai-ds  the  inn  ;  and  he  walked  a  good 
part  of  a  mile,  talking,  and  ever  and  anon  stopping  short  to 
impress  the  word  or  the  verse,  and  finally  parted  from  me  with 
great  kindness,  and  returned  across  the  h'elds. 

Wordsworth  honored  himself  by  his  simple  adherence  to 
truth,  and  was  very  willing  not  to  shine  ;  but  he  surprised  by 
the  hard  limits  of  his  thought.  To  judge  from  a  single  con- 
•:.on.  he  made  the  impression  of  a  narrow  and  very  Eng 
lish  mind  ;  of  one  who  paid  for  his  rare  elevation  by  general 
tameness  and  conformity.  Oil'  his  own  beat,  his  opinions 
were  of  no  value.  It  is  not  very  rare  to  find  persons  loving 
sympathy  and  ease,  who  expiate  their  depart  ure 
mon  in  one  direction,  bv  their  conformity  iuX^rjt«twcrr '"'M />:; 

VOL.  ii.  8  *  /       N         •      THE 

UNIVERSITY 


170  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

CHAPTER   II. 

VOYAGE   TO   ENGLAND. 

r  I  ^HE  occasion  of  my  second  visit  to  England  was  an  invi 
tation  from  some  Mechanics'  Institutes  in  Lancashire  and 
Yorkshire,  which  separately  are  organized  much  in  the  same 
way  as  our  New  England  Lyceums,  but,  in  1847,  had  been 
linked  into  a  "Union,"  which- embraced  twenty  or  thirty  towns 
and  cities,  and  presently  extended  into  the  middle  counties, 
and  northward  into  Scotland.  I  was  invited,  on  liberal  terms, 
to  read  a  series  of  lectures  in  them  all.  The  request  was 
urged  with  every  kind  suggestion,  and  every  assurance  of  aid 
and  comfort,  by  friendliest  parties  in  Manchester,  who,  in  the 
sequel,  amply  redeemed  their  word.  The  remuneration  was 
equivalent  to  the  fees  at  that  time  paid  in  this  country  for  the 
like  services.  At  all  events,  it  was  sufficient  to  cover  any  trav 
elling  expenses,  and  the  proposal  offered  an  excellent  opportu 
nity  of  seeing  the  interior  of  England  and  Scotland,  by  means 
of  a  home,  and  a  committee  of  intelligent  friends,  awaiting  me 
in  every  town. 

I  did  not  go  very  willingly.  I  am  not  a  good  traveller,  nor 
have  I  found  that  long  journeys  yield  a  fair  share  of  reasonable 
hours.  But  the  invitation  was  repeated  and  pressed  at  a  mo 
ment  of  more  leisure,  and  when  I  was  a  little  spent  by  some 
nnusual  studies.  I  wanted  a  change  and  a  tonic,  and  England 
was  proposed  to  me.  Besides,  there  were,  at  least,  the  dread 
attraction  and  salutary  influences  of  the  sea.  So  I  took  my 
berth  in  the  packet-ship  Washington  Irving,  and  sailed  from 
Boston  on  Tuesday,  5th  October,  1847. 

On  Friday,  at  noon,  we  had  only  made  one  hundred  and 
thirty-four  miles.  A  nimble  Indian  would  have  swum  as  far  ; 
but  the  captain  affirmed  that  the  ship  would  show  us  in  time 
all  her  paces,  and  we  crept  along  through  the  floating  drift  of 
boards,  logs,  and  chips,  which  the  rivers  of  Maine  and  New 
Brunswick  pour  into  the  sea  after  a  freshet. 

At  last,  on  Sunday  night,  after  doing  one  day's  work  in  four, 
the  storm  came,  the  winds  blew,  and  we  flew  before  a  north 
wester,  which  strained  every  rope  and  sail.  The  good  ship 
darts  through  the  water  all  day,  all  night,  like  a  fish,  quivering 


VOYAGE   TO   ENGLAND.  171 

with  speed,  gliding  through  liquid  leagues,  sliding  from  hori/.oii 
to  horizon.  She'  has  passed  ('ape  Sable  ;  she  has  reached  tho 
luniks  ;  tho  land-l»inls  an-  left  :  gulls,  haglets,  ducks,  petrels, 
swim,  dive,  and  hover  around  :  no  fishermen;  she  has  passed 
the  Banks  ;  lei't  live  sail  behind  her,  far  on  the  edge  of  the 
wi  M  at  sundown,  which  were  far  east  of  us  at  morn,  —  though 
they  say  at  sea  a  stern  chase  is  a  long  race,  -  and  still  we  liy 
for  our  lives.  The  shortest  sea-line  from  Boston  to  Liverpool 
is  L'Sf)0  miles.  This  a  steamer  keeps,  and  saves  lf>0  miles. 
A  sailing  ship  can  never  go  in  a  shorter  line  than  3000,  and 
usual Iv  it  is  much  longer.  Our  good  master  keeps  his  kites 
up  to  the  last  moment,  studding-sails  alow  and  aloft,  and,  by 
inc.  .ssant  straight  steering,  never  loses  a  rod  of  way.  Watch 
fulness  is  the  law  of  the  ship,-  -watch  on  watch,  for  advantage 
and  for  life.  Since  the  ship  was  built,  it  seems,  the  master 
never  slept  but  in  his  day -clothes  whilst  on  board.  "  There  are 
many  advantages,"  says  Saadi,  "in  sea-voyaging,  but  security 
is  not  one  of  them."  Yet  in  hurrying  over  these  abysses, 
whatever  dangers  we  are  running  into,  we  are  certainly  run 
ning  out  of  the  risks  of  hundreds  of  miles  every  day,  which 
have  their  own  chances  of  squall,  collision,  sea-stroke,  piracy, 
cold,  and  thunder.  Hour  for  hour,  the  risk  on  a  steamboat  is 
greater  ;  hut  the  speed  is  safety,  or  twelve  days  of  danger,  in 
stead  of  twenty-four. 

Our  ship  was  registered  750  tons,  and  weighed  perhaps,  with 
all  her  freight,  1500  tons.  The  mainmast,  from  the  deck  to 
the  top-button,  measured  115  feet;  the  length  of  the  deck, 
from  stem  to  stern,  155.  It  is  impossible  not  to  personify  a 
ship  ;  everybody  does,  in  everything  they  say  :  —  she  behaves 
\\ell  ;  she  minds  her  rudder  ;  she  swims  like  a  duck  ;  she  runs 
her  nose  into  the  water  ;  she  looks  into  a  port.  Then  that 
wonderful  r.«y//-/V  <Jn  ,-nr/>.^  by  which  we  adopt  into  our  self-love 
everything  we  touch,  makes  us  all  champions  of  her  sailing- 
qualities. 

The  conscious  ship  hears  all  the  praise.  In  one  week  she 
has  made  1-JU7  miles,  and  now,  at  night,  seems  to  hear  the 
steamer  behind  her,  which  left  Boston  to-day  at  two,  has 
mended  her  speed,  and  is  Hying  before  the  gray  south  wind 
eleven  and  a  half  knots  the  hour.  Tho  sea  tire  shines  in  her 
wake,  and  far  around  wherever  a  wave  breaks.  I  read  the 
hour.  (.<h.  -l.V,  on  my  watch  by  this  light.  Near  the  equator, 
you  can  read  small  print  by  it  ;  and  the  mate  describes  the 
phosphoric  insects,  when  taken  up  in  a  pail,  as  shaped  like  a 
Carolina  potato. 


172  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

I  find  the  sea-life  an  acquired  taste,  like  that  for  tomatoes 
and  olives.  The  confinement,  cold,  motion,  noise,  and  odor  are 
not  to  be  dispensed  with.  The  floor  of  your  room  is  sloped  at 
an  angle  of  twenty  or  thirty  degrees,  and  I  waked  every  morn 
ing  with  the  belief  that  some  one  was  tipping  up  my  berth. 
Nobody  likes  to  be  treated  ignominiously,  upset,  shoved  against 
the  side  of  the  house,  rolled  over,  suffocated  with  bilge,  mephi 
tis,  and  stewing  oil.  We  get  used  to  these  annoyances  at  last, 
but  the  dread  of  the  sea  remains  longer.  The  sea  is  mascu 
line,  the  type  of  active  strength.  Look,  what  egg-shells  are 
drifting  all  over  it,  each  one,  like  ours,  filled  with  men  in  ecsta 
sies  of  teiTor,  alternating  with  cockney  conceit,  as  the  sea  is 
rough  or  smooth.  Is  this  sad-colored  circle  an  eternal  cemetery  1 
In  our  graveyards  we  scoop  a  pit,  but  this  aggressive  water 
opens  mile-wide  pits  and  chasms,  and  makes  a  mouthful  of  a 
fleet.  To  the  geologist,  the  sea  is  the  only  firmament ;  the 
land  is  in  perpetual  flux  and  change,  now  blown  up  like  a  tu 
mor,  now  sunk  in  a  chasm,  and  the  registered  observations  of 
a  few  hundred  years  find  it  in  a  perpetual  tilt,  rising  and  fall 
ing.  The  sea  keeps  its  old  level ;  and  't  is  no  wonder  that  the 
history  of  our  race  is  so  recent,  if  the  roar  of  the  ocean  is 
silencing  our  traditions.  A  rising  of  the  sea,  such  as  has  been 
observed,  say  an  inch  in  a  century,  from  east  to  west  on  the 
land,  will  bury  all  the  towns,  monuments,  bones,  and  knowledge 
of  mankind,  steadily  and  insensibly.  If  it  is  capable  of  these 
great  and  secular  mischiefs,  it  is  quite  as  ready  at  private  and 
local  damage  ;  and  of  this  no  landsman  seems  so  fearful  as  the 
seaman.  Such  discomfort  and  such  danger  as  the  narratives 
of  the  captain  and  mate  disclose  are  bad  enough  as  the  costly 
fee  we  pay  for  entrance  to  Europe  ;  but  the  wonder  is  always 
new  that  any  sane  man  can  be  a  sailor.  And  here,  on  the 
second  day  of  our  voyage,  stepped  out  a  little  boy  in  his  shirt 
sleeves,  who  had  hid  himself,  whilst  the  ship  was  in  port,  in 
the  bread-closet,  having  no  money,  and  wishing  to  go  to  Eng 
land.  The  sailors  have  dressed  him  in  Guernsey  frock,  with  a 
knife  in  his  belt,  and  he  is  climbing  nimbly  about  after  them, 
"  likes  the  work  first-rate,  and,  if  the  captain  will  take  him, 
means  now  to  come  back  again  in  the  ship."  The  mate  avers 
that  this  is  the  history  of  all  sailors ;  nine  out  of  ten  are  run 
away  boys ;  and  adds,  that  all  of  them  are  sick  of  the  sea,  but 
stay  in  it  out  of  pride.  Jack  has  a  life  of  risks,  incessant 
abuse,  and  the  worst  pay.  It  is  a  little  better  with  the  mate, 
and  not  very  much  better  with  the  captain.  A  hundred  dollars 


VOYAGE   TO   EXULANI).  173 

a  month  is  reckoned  high  pay.  If  sailors  were  contented,  if 
they  had  n«»t  resolved  again  and  again  not  to  go  to  sea  any 
more,  1  should  respect  them. 

Of  course,  the  inconveniences  and  terrors  of  the  sea  are  not 
of  anv  account  to  those  whose  minds  are  preoccupied.  The 
wah •!•-!, i\vs,  arctic  frost,  the  mountain,  the  mine,  only  shatter 
cocknevisin  ;  cverv  noble  activity  makes  room  for  itself.  A 
great  mind  is  a  good  sailor,  as  a  great  heart  is.  And  the  se;i 
is  not  slow  in  disclosing  inestimable  secrets  to  a  good  naturalist, 
i  ifl  a  u'ood  rule  in  every  journey  to  provide  some  piece  of 
liheral  studv  to  rescue  the  hours  which  had  weather,  had  com- 
panv,  and  taverns  steal  from  the  best  economist.  Classics 
which  at  home  are  drowsily  read  have  a  strange  charm  in  a 
country  inn,  or  in  the  transom  of  a  merchant  brig.  I  remem 
ber  that  some  of  the  happiest  and  most  valuable  hours  1  have 
owed  to  hooks,  passed,  many  years  ago,  on  shipboard.  The 
worst  impediment  i  have  found  at  sea  is  the  want  of  light  in 
the  i-abin. 

We  found  on  board  the  usual  cabin  library  ;  Basil  Hall, 
Dumas,  Dickens,  I'.ulwcr,  Balzac,  and  Sand  were  our  sea-gods. 
Among  the  passengers,  there  was  some  variety  of  talent  and 
profession  ;  we  exchanged  our  experiences,  and  all  learned 
something.  The  busiest  talk  with  leisure  and  convenience  at 
sea,  and  sometimes  a  memorable  fact  turns  up,  which  von  have 
loiin-  had  a  vacant  niche  for,  and  seixe  with  the  joy  of  a  col 
lector.  But,  under  the  best  conditions,  a  voyage  is  one  of  the 
severest  tests  to  try  a  man.  A  college  examination  is  nothing 
to  it.  Sea-days  are  long, — these  lack-lustre,  joyless  days 
which  whistled  over  us  ;  but  they  were  few,  —  only  fifteen,  as 
the  captain  counted,  sixteen  according  to  me.  Reckoned  from 
the  time  when  we  left  soundings,  our  speed  was  such  that  the 
captain  drew  the  line  of  his  course  in  red  ink  on  his  chart,  for 
the  encouragement  or  envy  of  future  navigators. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  King  of  England  would  consult 
his  dignity  by  giving  audience  to  foreign  ambassadors  in  the 
cabin  of  a  inan-of  war.  And  I  think  the  white  path  of  an  At 
lantic  ship  the  right  avenue  to  the  palace  front  of  this  sea 
faring  people,  who  for  hundreds  of  years  claimed  the  strict  sov 
ereignty  of  the  sea,  and  exacted  toll  and  the  striking  sail  from 
the  ships  of  all  other  peoples.  When  their  privilege  was  dis 
puted  by  the  Duti-h  and  other  junior  marines,  on  the  plea  that 
you  could  never  anchor  on  the  same  wave,  or  hold  property  in 
what  was  always  flowing,  the  English  did  not  stick  to  claim 


174  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

the  channel,  or  bottom  of  all  the  main.  "  As  if,"  said  they, 
"  we  contended  for  tiie  drops  of  the  sea,  and  not  for  its  situa 
tion,  or  the  bed  of  those  waters.  The  sea  is  bounded  by  his 
Majesty's  empire." 

As  we  neared  the  land,  its  genius  was  felt.  This  was  inevi 
tably  the  British  side.  In  every  man's  thought  arises  now  a 
new  system,  English  sentiments,  English  loves  and  fears,  Eng 
lish  history  and  social  modes.  Yesterday,  every  passenger  had 
measured  the  speed  of  the  ship  by  watching  the  bubbles  over 
the  ship's  bulwarks.  To-day,  instead  of  bubbles,  we  measure 
by  Kinsale,  Cork,  Waterford,  and  Ardmore.  There  lay  the 
green  shore  of  Ireland,  like  some  coast  of  plenty.  We  could 
see  towns,  towers,  churches,  harvests  ',  but  the  curse  of  eight 
hundred  years  we  could  not  discern. 


CHAPTER  III. 

LAND. 

A  LFIERI  thought  Italy  and  England  the  only  countries 
_/~\.  worth  living  in ;  the  former,  because  there  nature  vindi 
cates  her  rights,  and  triumphs  over  the  evils  inflicted  by  the 
governments  ;  the  latter,  because  art  conquers  nature,  and 
transforms  a  rude,  ungenial  land  into  a  paradise  of  comfort  and 
plenty.  England  is  a  garden.  Under  an  ash-colored  sky,  the 
fields  have  been  combed  and  rolled  till  they  appear  to  have 
been  finished  with  a  pencil  instead  of  a  plough.  The  solidity 
of  the  structures  that  compose  the  towns  speaks  the  industry  of 
ages.  Nothing  is  left  as  it  was  made.  Rivers,  hills,  valleys, 
the  sea  itself,  feel  the  hand  of  a  master.  The  long  habitation 
of  a  powerful  and  ingenious  race  has  turned  every  rood  of  land 
to  its  best  use,  has  found  all  the  capabilities,  the  arable  soil, 
the  quarriable  rock,  the  highways,  the  byways,  the  fords,  the 
navigable  waters  ;  and  the  new  arts  of  intercourse  meet  you 
everywhere  ;  so  that  England  is  a  huge  phalanstery,  where  all 
that  man  wants  is  provided  within  the  precinct.  Cushioned 
and  comforted  in  every  manner,  the  traveller  rides  as  on  a 
cannon-ball,  high  and  low,  over  rivers  and  towns,  through  moun 
tains,  in  tunnels  of  three  or  four  miles,  at  near  twice  the  speed 
of  our  trains  ;  and  reads  quietly  the  Times  newspaper,  which, 


LAND.  175 

by  its  immense  correspondence  and  reporting,  seems  to  have 
muchim/.ed  the  rest  of  the  world  for  his  occasion. 

The  problem  of  tlu-  traveller  landing  sit  Liverpool  is,  Why 
England  is  England.  AY  hat  are  tin-  elements  of  that  power 
which  the  Kngiish  hold  over  other  nations?  If  there  be  one 
test  of  national  genius  universally  accepted,  it  is  success  ;  and 
if  there  l>e  one  successful  country  in  the  universe  for  the  last 
millennium,  that  country  is  England. 

A  \\isc  traveller  will  naturally  choose  to  visit  the  best  of 
actual  nations  ;  and  an  American  hamxtOTg  reasons  than  another 
to  draw  him  to  Britain.  In  all  that  is  done  or  begun  by  the 
Americans  towards  right  thinking  or  practice,  we  are  met  by  a 
civilization  already  settled  and  overpowering.  The  culture  of 
the  day,  the  thoughts  and  aims  of  men,  are  English  thoughts 
and  aims.  A  nation  considerable  for  a  thousand  years  since 
Egbert,  it  has,  in  the  last  centuries,  obtained  the  ascendant, 
and  stamped  the  knowledge,  activity,  and  power  of  mankind 
with  its  impress.  Those  who  resist  it  do  not  feel  it  or  obey  it 
The  liussian  in  his  snows  is  aiming  to  be  English.  The 
Turk  and  Chinese  also  are  making  awkward  efforts  to  be 
English.  The  practical  common-sense  of  modern  society,  the 
utilitarian  direction  which  labor,  laws,  opinion,  religion  take, 
is  the  natural  genius  of  the  British  mind.  The  influence  of 
France  is  a  constituent  of  modern  civility,  but  not  enough  op 
posed  to  the  English  for  the  most  wholesome  effect.  The 
American  is  only  the  continuation  of  the  English  genius  into 
new  conditions,  more  or  less  propitious. 

See  what  books  fill  our  libraries.  Every  book  we  read,  every 
biography,  play,  romance,  in  whatever  form,  is  still  English 
histon*  and  manners.  So  that  a  sensible  Englishman  once 
said  to  me,  "  As  long  as  you  do  not  grant  us  copyright,  we 
shall  have  the  teaching  of  yon." 

But  we  have  the  same  difficulty  in  making  a  social  or  moral 
estimate  of  England,  as  the  sheriff  finds  in  drawing  a  jury  to 
try  some  cause  which  has  agitated  the  whole  community,  and 
on  which  everybody  finds  himself  an  interested  party.  Of 
ficers,  jurors,  judges,  have  all  taken  sides.  England  has  in 
oculated  all  nations  with  her  civilization,  intelligence,  and 
tastes  ;  and,  to  resist  the  tyranny  and  prepossession  of  the 
British  element,  a  serious  man  must  aid  himself,  by  comparing 
with  it  the  civilizations  of  the  farthest  east  and  west,  the  old 
Creek,  the  Oriental,  and,  much  more,  the  ideal  standard,  if 
onlv  by  means  of  the  verv  impatienre  which  English  forms  arc 
sure  to  awaken  in  independent  minds. 


176  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

Besides,  if  we  will  visit  London,  the  present  time  is  the  best 
time,  as  some  signs  portend  that  it  has  reached  its  highest 
point.  It  is  observed  that  the  English  interest  us  a  little  less 
within  a  few  years  ;  and  hence  the  impression  that  the  British 
power  has  culminated,  is  in  solstice,  or  already  declining. 

As  soon  as  you  enter  England,  which,  with  Wales,  is  no 
larger  than  the  State  of  Georgia,*  this  little  land  stretches  by 
an  illusion  to  the  dimensions  of  an  empire.  The  innumerable 
details,  the  crowded  succession  of  towns,  cities,  cathedrals, 
castles,  and  great  and  decorated  estates,  the  number  and  power 
of  the  trades  and  guilds,  the  military  strength  and  splendor, 
the  multitudes  of  rich  and  of  remarkable  people,  the  servants 
and  equipages,  —  all  these  catching  the  eye,  and  never  allow 
ing  it  to  pause,  hide  all  boundaries,  by  the  impression  of  mag 
nificence  and  endless  wealth. 

I  reply  to  all  the  urgencies  that  refer  me  to  this  and  that 
object  indispensably  to  be  seen, — Yes,  to  see  England  well 
needs  a  hundred  years  ;  for,  what  they  told  me  was  the  merit 
of  Sir  John  Soane's  Museum,  in  London, — that  it  was  well 
packed  and  well  saved,  —  is  the  merit  of  England ;  —  it  is 
stuffed  full,  in  all  corners  and  crevices,  with  towns,  towers, 
churches,  villas,  palaces,  hospitals,  and  charity -houses.  In  the 
history  of  art,  it  is  a  long  way  from  a  cromlech  to  York  minster  ; 
yet  all  the  intermediate  steps  may  still  be  traced  in  this  all- 
preserving  island. 

The  territory  has  a  singular  perfection.  The  climate  is 
warmer  by  many  degrees  than  it  is  entitled  to  by  latitude. 
Neither  hot  nor  cold,  there  is  no  hour  in  the  whole  year  when 
one  cannot  work.  Here  is  no  winter,  but  such  days  as  we  have 
in  Massachusetts  in  November,  a  temperature  which  makes  no 
exhausting  demand  on  human  strength,  but  allows  the  attain 
ment  of  the  largest  stature.  Charles  the  Second  said,  "  It  in 
vited  men  abroad  more  days  in  the  year  and  more  hours  in  the 
day  than  another  country."  Then  England  has  all  the  materi 
als  of  a  working  country  except  wood.  The  constant  rain,  — 
a  rain  with  every  tide,  in  some  parts  of  the  island,  —  keeps  its 
multitude  of  rivers  full,  and  brings  agricultural  production  up 
to  the  highest  point.  It  has  plenty  of  water,  of  stone,  of  pot 
ter's  clay,  of  coal,  of  salt,  and  of  iron.  The  land  naturally 
abounds  with  game,  immense  heaths  and  downs  are  paved 
with  quails,  grouse,  and  woodcock,  and  the  shores  are  animated 

*  Add  South  Carolina,  and  you  have  more  than  an  equivalent  for  the  area 
of  Scotland. 


LAND.  177 

by  water-birds.  The  rivers  :uul  the  surrounding  sen  spawn 
with  iish  ;  thriv  an-  salmon  for  the  rich,  and  sprats  and  her 
rings  for  the  poor.  In  the  northern  l»ehs,  the  herring  an-  in 
innumerable  shoals  ;  at  one  sea^.n,  the  country  people  say,  the 
lakes  contain  one  part  water  and  two  pails  fish. 

The  only  drawback  on  this  industrial  conveniriiey  is  the 
darkness  of  its  sky.  The  night  and  day  are  too  nearly  of  a 
color.  It  strains  the  eves  to  read  and  to  write.  Add  the 
coal-smoke.  In  the  manufacturing  towns,  the  fine  soot  or 
ll<i<-kx  darken  the  day,  give  white  sheep  the  color  of  black 
sheep,  discolor  the  human  saliva,  contaminate  the  air,  poison 
nianv  plants,  and  corrode  the  monuments  and  buildings. 

The  London  fog  aggravates  the  distempers  of  the  sky,  and 
sometimes  justifies  the  epigram  on  the  climate  by  an  English 
wit,  "  in  a  tine  day,  looking  up  a  chimney  ;  in  a  foul  day, 
looking  down  one."  A  gentleman  in  Liverpool  told  me  that 
he  found  he  could  do  without  a  tiro  in  his  parlor  about  one 
clav  in  the  \  ear.  It  is  however  pretended,  that  the  enormous 
consumption  of  coal  in  the  island  is  also  felt  in  modifying  the 
general  climate. 

Factitious  climate,  factitious  position.  England  resembles 
a  ship  in  its  shape,  and,  if  it  were  one,  its  best  admiral  could 
not  have  worked  it,  or  anchored  it  in  a  more  judicious  or  ef 
fective  position.  Sir  John  Herschel  said,  "  London  was  the 
centre  of  the  terrene  globe."  The  shopkeeping  nation,  to  use 
a  shop  word,  has  a  </»<><l  stand.  The  old  Venetians  pl< 
themselves  with  the  flattery,  that  Venice  was  in  45°,  midway 
between  the  poles  and  the  line  ;  as  if  that  were  an  imperial 
centrality.  Long  of  old,  the  Greeks  fancied  Delphi  the  navel 
of  the  earth,  in  their  favorite  mode  of  fabling  the  earth  to  be 
an  animal.  The  Jews  belived  Jerusalem  to  be  the  centre.  I 
have  seen  a  kratometric  chart  designed  to  show  that  the  city 
of  Philadelphia  was  in  the  same  thermic  belt,  and,  by  infcn 
ence.  in  the  same  belt  of  empire,  as  the  cities  of  Athens, 
Koine,  and  London.  It  was  drawn  by  a  patriotic  Philadel- 
phian,  and  was  examined  with  pleasure,  under  his  showing, 
by  the  inhabitants  of  Chestnut  Street.  But,  when  carried  to 
Charleston,  to  New  Orleans,  and  to  llo^i'ii,  it  somehow  failed 
to  convince  the  ingenious  scholars  of  all  those  capitals. 

But  England  is  anchored  at  the  side  of  Europe,  and  right 
in  the  heart  of  the  modern  world.  The  sea.  which,  according 
to  ViririTs  famous  line,  divided  the  poor  Britons  utterly  from 
the  world,  proved  to  be  the  ring  of  marriage  with  Jill  nations. 

8*  L 


178  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

It  is  not  down  in  the  books,  —  it  is  written  only  in  the  ge 
ologic  strata,  —  that  fortunate  day  when  a  wave  of  the  German 
Ocean  burst  the  old  isthmus  which  joined  Kent  and  Cornwall 
to  France,  and  gave  to  this  fragment  of  Europe  its  impreg 
nable  sea-wall,  cutting  off  an  island  of  eight  hundred  miles  in 
length,  with  an  irregular  breadth  reaching  to  three  hundred 
miles  ;  a  territory  large  enough  for  independence  enriched 
with  every  seed  of  national  power,  so  near,  that  it  can  see  the 
harvests  of  the  continent  \  and  so  far,  that  who  would  cross 
the  strait  must  be  an  expert  mariner,  ready  for  tempests.  As 
America,  Europe,  and  Asia  lie,  these  Britons  have  precisely 
the  best  commercial  position  in  the  whole  planet,  and  are  sure 
of  a  market  for  all  the  goods  they  can  manufacture.  And  to 
make  these  advantages  avail,  the  river  Thames  must  dig  its 
spacious  outlet  to  the  sea  from  the  heart  of  the  kingdom, 
giving  road  and  landing  to  innumerable  ships,  and  all  the  con- 
veniency  to  trade,  that  a  people  so  skilful  and  sufficient  in 
economizing  water-front  by  docks,  warehouses,  and  lighters  re 
quired.  When  James  the  First  declared  his  purpose  of  punish 
ing  London  by  removing  his  Court,  the  Lord  Mayor  replied, 
"  that,  in  removing  his  royal  presence  from  his  lieges,  they 
hoped  he  would  leave  them  the  Thames." 

In  the  variety  of  surface,  Britain  is  a  miniature  of  Europe, 
having  plain,  forest,  marsh,  river,  sea-shore  ;  mines  in  Corn 
wall  ;  caves  in  Matlock  and  Derbyshire  ;  delicious  landscape 
in  Dovedale,  delicious  sea-view  at  Tor  Bay,  Highlands  in  Scot 
land,  Snowdon  in  Wales  ;  and,  in  Westmoreland  and  Cumber 
land,  a  pocket  Switzerland,  in  which  the  lakes  and  mountains 
are  on  a  sufficient  scale  to  fill  the  eye  and  touch  the  imagina 
tion.  It  is  a  nation  conveniently  small.  Fontenelle  thought, 
that  nature  had  sometimes  a  little  affectation  ;  and  there  is 
such  an  artificial  completeness  in  this  nation  of  artificers,  as 
if  there  were  a  design  from  the  beginning  to  elaborate  a  bigger 
Birmingham.  Nature  held  counsel  with  herself,  and  said, 
*  My  Romans  are  gone.  To  build  my  new  empire,  I  will 
choose  a  rude  race,  all  masculine,  with  brutish  strength.  I 
will  not  grudge  a  competition  of  the  roughest  males.  Let 
buffalo  gore  buffalo,  and  the  pasture  to  the  strongest !  For  I 
have  work  that  requires  the  best  will  and  sinew.  Sharp  and 
temperate  northern  breezes  shall  blow,  to  keep  that  will  alive 
and  alert.  The  sea  shall  disjoin  the  people  from  others,  and 
knit  them  to  a  fierce  nationality.  It  shall  give  them  markets 
on  every  side.  Long  time  I  will  keep  them  on  their  feet,  by 


RACE.  179 

poverty,  border-wars,  seafaring,  sea-risks,  and  the  stimulus  of 
gain.  An  island,  —but  not  so  hyge,  the  people  nut  so  many 
OS  to  glut  tho  givat  markets  and  depress  one  another,  but 
proj)ortioned  to  the  si/.e  of  Europe  and  the  continent.--.' 

With  its  fruits,  and  wares,  and  money,  must  its  civil  influ 
ence  radiate.  It  is  a  singular  coincidence  to  this  geographic 
centrality,  the  spiritual  centrulity,  which  Kmanuel  Sweden 
borg  ascribes  to  the  p"ople.  "  Kor  the  English  nation,  the 
best  of  them  are  in  the  centre  of  all  Christians,  because 
they  have  interior  intellectual  light.  This  appears  conspicu 
ously  in  the  spiritual  world.  This  light  they  derive  from  the 
liberty  of  speaking  and  writing,  and  thereby  of  thinking." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

RACE. 

AN  ingenious  anatomist  has  written  a  book  *  to  prove  that 
races  are  imperishable,  but  nations  are  pliant  political 
constructions,  easily  changed  or  destroyed.  But  this  writer 
did  not  found  his  assumed  races  on  any  necessary  law,  dispos 
ing  their  ideal  or  metaphysical  necessity  ;  nor  did  he,  on  the 
other  hand,  count  with  precision  the  existing  races,  and  settle 
the  true  bounds  ;  a  point  of  nicety,  and  the  popular  test  of 
the  theory.  The  individuals  at  the  extremes  of  divergence  in 
one  race  of  men  are  as  unlike  as  the  wolf  to  the  lapdog.  Yet 
each  variety  shades  down  imperceptibly  into  the  next,  and  you 
cannot  draw  the  line  where  a  race  begins  or  ends.  Hence 
every  writer  makes  a  different  count.  Blumenbach  reckons 
five  races  ;  II umboldt,  three  ;  and  Mr.  Pickering,  who  lately, 
in  our  Exploring  Expedition,  thinks  he  saw  all  the  kinds  of 
men  that  can  be  on  the  planet,  makes  eleven. 

The  British  Empire-  is  re'ckoned  to  contain  222,000,000 
souls,  —  perhaps  a  fifth  of  tin-  population  of  the  globe:  and 
to  comprise  a  territory  of  6,000,000  square  miles.  So  far 
have  British  people  predominated.  IVrhaps  forty  of  these 
millions  are  of  British  stock.  Add  the  l'nit"d  Sr.ifsof  Amer 
ica,  which  reckon,  exclusive  of  slaves,  20,000,000  of  people, 
on  a  territory  of  3,000,000"  square  miles,  and  in  which  the 

*  The  Races,  a  Fragment.    By  Robert  Knox.    London:  I860. 


180  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

foreign  element,  however  considerable,  is  rapidly  assimilated, 
and  you  have  a  population  of  English  descent  and  language,  of 
60,000,000,  and  governing  a  population  of  245,000,000  souls. 

The  British  census  proper  reckons  twenty-seven  and  a  half 
millions  in  the  home  countries.  What  makes  this  census  im 
portant  is  the  quality  of  the  units  that  compose  it.  They  are 
free  forcible  men,  in  a  country  where  life  is  safe,  and  has 
reached  the  greatest  value.  They  give  the  bias  to  the  current 
age  ;  and  that,  not  by  chance  or  by  mass,  but  by  their  charac 
ter,  and  by  the  number  of  individuals  among  them  of  personal 
ability.  It  has  been  denied  that  the  English  have  genius.  Be 
it  as  it  may,  men  of  vast  intellect  have  been  born  on  their 
soil,  and  they  have  made  or  applied  the  principal  inventions. 
They  have  sound  bodies,  and  supreme  endurance  in  Avar  and  in 
labor.  The  spawning  force  of  the  race  has  sufficed  to  the  col 
onization  of  great  parts  of  the  world  ;  yet  it  remains  to  be 
seen  whether  they  can  make  good  the  exodus  of  millions  from 
Great  Britain,  amounting,  in  1852,  to  more  than  a  thousand  a 
day.  They  have  assimilating  force,  since  they  are  imitated  by 
their  foreign  subjects;  and  they  are  still  aggressive  and  prop 
agandist,  enlarging  the  dominion  of  their  arts  and  liberty. 
Their  laws  are  hospitable,  and  slavery  does  not  exist  under 
them.  What  oppression  exists  is  incidental  and  temporary  ; 
their  success  is  not  sudden  or  fortunate,  but  they  have  main 
tained  constancy  and  self-equality  for  many  ages. 

Is  this  power  due  to  their  race,  or  to  some  other  cause  1 
Men  hear  gladly  of  the  power  of  blood  or  race.  Everybody 
likes  to  know  that  his  advantages  cannot  be  attributed  to  air, 
soil,  sea,  or  to  local  wealth,  as  mines  and  quarries,  nor  to  laws 
and  traditions,  nor  to  fortune,  but  to  superior  brain,  as  it 
makes  the  praise  more  personal  to  him. 

We  anticipate  in  the  doctrine  of  race  something  like  that 
law  of  physiology,  that,  whatever  bone,  muscle,  or  essential 
organ  is  found  in  one  healthy  individual,  the  same  part  or  or 
gan  may  be  found  in  or  near  the  same  place  in  its  congener; 
and  we  look  to  find  in  the  son  every  mental  and  moral  prop 
erty  that  existed  in  the  ancestor.  In  race,  it  is  not  the  broad 
shoulders,  or  litheness,  or  stature  that  give  advantage,  but  a 
symmetry  that  reaches  as  far  as  to  the  wit.  Then  the  miracle 
and  renown  begin.  Then  first  we  care  to  examine  the  pedi 
gree,  and  copy  heedfully  the  training,  —  what  food  they  ate, 
what  nursing,  school,  and  exercises  they  had,  which  resulted 
in  this  mother-wit,  delicacy  of  thought,  and  robust  wisdom. 


RACE.  181 

How  came  such  men  as  Kini:  Alfred,  ami  Roger  Bacon,  Wil 
liam  of  \Yykeham,  \V;ilti'r  Kaleigh,  Philip  Sidney,  Isaac  NYw- 
ton,  Williiiiu  Shakespeare.  <  in  n-ge  ( 'hapman,  Francis  Bacon, 
Herbert,  Henry  Yarn1,  to  exist  here?  \\"liat  made 
these  delicate  natures  /  was  it  the  air?  was  it  the  seal  was  it 
the  parentage  I  For  it  is  certain  tliat  these  men  are  samples 
of  their  contemporaries.  The  hearing  ear  is  always  found 
close  to  the  speaking  tongue  ;  and  no  genius  can  long  or  often 
utter  anything  which  is  not  invited  and  gladly  entertained  by 
men  around  him. 

It  is  race,  is  it  not  ]  that  puts  the  hundred  millions  of  India 
under  the  dominion  of  a  remote  island  in  the  north  of  Kurope. 
Race  avails  much,  if  that  he  true,  which  is  alleged,  that  all 
Celts  are  Catholics,  and  all  Saxons  arc  Protestants  ;  that  Celts 
love  unity  of  power,  and  Saxons  the  representative  principle. 
Race  is  a  controlling  influence  in  the  Jew,  who,  for  two  mil 
lenniums,  under  every  climate,  has  preserved  the  same  charac 
ter  and  employments,  Race  in  the  negro  is  of  appalling  im 
portance.  The  French  in  Canada,  cut  otf  from  all  intercourse 
with  the  parent  people,  have  held  their  national  traits.  I 
chanced  to  read  Tacitus  "on  the  Manners  of  the  Germans," 
not  long  since,  in  Missouri,  and  the  heart  of  Illinois,  and  1 
found  abundant  points  of  resemblance  between  the  Germans 
of  the  Hercynian  forest,  and  our  Hoosiers,  flickers,  and  lla>l<jt  />• 
of  the  American  woods. 

But  whilst  race  works  immortally  to  keep  its  own,  it  is  re 
sisted  by  other  forces.  Civilization  is  a  re-agent,  and  eats 
away  the  old  traits.  The  Arabs  of  to-day  are  the  Arabs  of 
Pharaoh  ;  but  the  Briton  of  to:day  is  a  very  different  person 
from  Cassibelaimns  or  Ossian.  Each  religious  sect  has  its 
physiognomy.  The  Methodists  have  acquired  a  face ;  the 
Quakers,  a  face  ;  the  nuns,  a  face.  An  Englishman  will  pick 
out  a  dissenter  by  his  manners.  Trades  and  professions 
carve  their  own  lines  on  face  and  form.  Certain  circumstan 
ces  of  English  life  are  not  less  effective  :  as,  personal  liberty  : 
plenty  of  food  ;  good  ale  and  mutton  ;  open  market,  or  good 
-  t'..r  every  kind  of  labor;  high  bribes  to  talent  and 
skill  ;  the  island  life,  or  the  million  opportunities  and  outlets 
for  expanding  and  misplaced  talent  ;  readiness  of  combination 
among  themselves  for  politics  or  for  business  ;  strikes  ;  and 
sense  of  superioritv  founded  on  habit  of  victorv  in  labor  and 
in  war;  and  the  appetite  for  superiority  grows  by  feeding. 

It  is  easy  to  add  to  the  counteracting  forces  to  race.     Cre/ 


182  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

denco  is  a  main  element.  'T  is  said,  that  the  views  of  nature 
held  by  any  people  determine  all  their  institutions.  What 
ever  influences  add  to  mental  or  moral  faculty,  take  men  out 
of  nationality,  as  out  of  other  conditions,  and  make  the  na 
tional  life  a  culpable  compromise. 

These  limitations  of  the  formidable  doctrine  of  race  suggest 
others  which  threaten  to  undermine  it,  as  not  sufficiently 
based.  The  fixity  or  inconvertibleness  of  races  as  we  see 
them,  is  a  weak  argument  for  the  eternity  of  these  frail  k 
boundaries,  since  all  our  historical  period  is  a  point  to  the  du 
ration  in  which  nature  has  wrought.  Any  the  least  and  soli- 
tariest  fact  in  our  natural  history,  such  as  the  melioration  of 
fruits  and  of  animal  stocks,  has  the  worth  of  a  pvwer  in  the 
opportunity  of  geologic  periods.  Moreover,  though  we  natter 
the  self-love  of  men  and  nations  by  the  legend  of  pure  races, 
all  our  experience  is  of  the  gradation  and  resolution  of  races, 
and  strange  resemblances  meet  us  everywhere.  It  need  not 
puzzle  us  that  Malay  and  Papuan,  Celt  and  Roman,  Saxon 
and  Tartar,  should  mix,  when  we  see  the  rudiments  of  tiger 
and  baboon  in  our  human  form,  and  know  that  the  barriers  of 
races  are  not  so  firm,  but  that  some  spray  sprinkles  us  from 
the  antediluvian  seas. 

The  low  organizations  are  simplest ;  a  mere  mouth,  a  jelly, 
or  a  straight  worm.  As  the  scale  mounts,  the  organizations 
become  complex.  We  are  piqued  with  pure  descent,  but  na 
ture  loves  inoculation.  A  child  blends  in  his  face  the  faces  of 
both  parents,  and  some  feature  from  every  ancestor  whose  face 
hangs  on  the  wall.  The  best  nations  are  those  most  widely 
related  ;  and  navigation,  as  effecting  a  world-wide  mixture,  is 
the  most  potent  advancer  of  nations. 

The  English  composite  character  betrays  a  mixed  origin. 
Everything  English  is  a  fusion  of  distant  and  antagonistic 
elements.  The  language  is  mixed  ;  the  names  of  men  are  of 
different  nations,  —  three  languages,  three  or  four  nations ;  — 
the  currents  of  thought  are  counter  :  contemplation  and  prac 
tical  skill ;  active  intellect  and  dead  conservatism ;  world-wide 
enterprise,  and  devoted  use  and  wont ;  aggressive  freedom  and 
hospitable  law,  with  bitter  class-legislation  ;  a  people  scattered 
by  their  wars  and  affairs  over  the  face  of  the  whole  earth,  and 
homesick  to  a  man  ;  a  country  of  extremes,  —  dukes  and 
chartists,  Bishops  of  Durham  and  naked  heathen  colliers  ; 
—  nothing  can  be  praised  in  it  without  damning  exceptions, 
•jiid  nothing  denounced  without  salvos  of  cordial  praise. 


RACE.  183 

Xeithcr  do  this  people  appear  to  bo  of  one  stem  ;  but  col- 
.  !v  a  better  race  than  any  from  which  they  arc  derived. 
.Nor  is  it  easy  to  trace  it  home  to  its  original  scats.  Who  can 
call  by  right  names  what  races  are  in  Britain  I  Who  can  trace 
them  historically  I  Who  can  discriminate  them  anatomically, 
or  metaphysically  I 

In  the  impossibility  of  arriving  at  satisfaction  on  the  his 
torical  question  of  race,  and  —  come  of  whatever  disputable 
ancestry  —  the  indisputable  Englishman  before  me,  himself 
very  well  marked,  and  nowhere  eUe  to  be  found,  — I  fancied  I 
could  leave  quite  aside  the  choice  of  a  tribe  as  his  lineal  pro 
genitors.  Defoe  said  in  his  wrath,  "the  Englishman  was  the 
mud  of  all  races."  1  incline  to  the  belief,  that,  as  water,  lime, 
and  sand  make  mortar,  so  certain  temperaments  marry  well, 
and,  by  well-managed  contrarieties,  develop  as  drastic  a  charac 
ter  as  the  English.  On  the  whole,  it  is  not  so  much  a  history 
of  one  or  of  certain  tribes  of  Saxons,  .lutes,  or  Frisians,  coming 
from  one  place,  and  genetically  identical,  as  it  is  an  anthologv 
of  temperaments  out  of  them  all.  Certain  temperaments  suit 
the  sky  and  soil  of  England,  say  eight  or  ten  or  twenty  varieties, 
as,  out  of  a  hundred  pear-trees,  eight  or  ten  suit  the  soil  of  an 
orchard,  and  thrive,  whilst  all  the  unadapted  temperaments  die 
out. 

The  English  derive  their  pedigree  from  such  a  range  of 
nationalities,  that  there  needs  sea-room  and  land-room  to  un 
fold  the  varieties  of  talent  and  character.  Perhaps  the  ocean 
serves  as  a  galvanic  battery  to  distribute  acids  at  one  pole,  and 
alkalies  at  the  other.  So  England  tends  to  accumulate  her 
liberals  in  America,  and  her  conservatives  at  London.  The 
Scandinavians  in  her  race  still  hear  in  every  age  the  murmurs 
of  their  mother,  the  ocean  ;  the  Briton  in  the  blood  hugs  the 
-read  still. 

Again,  as  if  to  intensate  the  influences  that  are  not  of  race, 
what  we  think  of  when  we  talk  of  English  traits  really  narrows 
itself  to  a  small  district.  It  excludes  Ireland,  and  Scotland, 
and  Wales,  and  reduces  itself  at  last  to  London,  that  is,  to  those; 
who  conic  and  Lro  thither.  The  portraits  that  hang  on  the 
walls  in  the  Academy  Exhibition  at  London,  the  figures  in 
Punch's  drawing  of  the  public  men,  or  of  the  club-houses,  the 
prints  in  the  shop-windows,  are  distinctive  English,  and  not 
American,  no,  nor  Scotch,  nor  Irish  :  but  't  is  a  very  restricted 
nationality.  As  you  go  north  into  the  manufacturing  and 
agricultural  districts,  and  to  the  population  that  never  travels, 


184  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

as  you  go  into  Yorkshire,  as  you  enter  Scotland,  the  world's 
Englishman  is  no  longer  found.  In  Scotland,  there  is  a  rapid 
loss  of  all  grandeur  of  mien  and  manners  ;  a  provincial  eager 
ness  and  acuteness  appear  ;  the  poverty  of  the  country  makes 
itself  remarked,  and  a  coarseness  of  manners  ;  and,  among  the 
intellectual,  is  the  insanity  of  dialectics.  In  Ireland,  are  the 
same  climate  and  soil  as  in  England,  but  less  food,  no  right 
relation  to  the  land,  political  dependence,  small  tenantry,  and 
an  inferior  or  misplaced  race. 

These  queries  concerning  ancestry  and  blood  may  be  well 
allowed,  for  there  is  no  prosperity  that  seems  more  to  depend 
on  the  kind  of  man  than  British  prosperity.  Only  a  hardy  and 
wise  people  could  have  made  this  small  territory  great.  We 
say,  in  a  regatta  or  yacht-race,  that  if  the  boats  are  anywhere 
nearly  matched,  it  is  the  man  that  wins.  Put  the  best  sailing- 
master  into  either  boat,  and  he  will  win. 

Yet  it  is  fine  for  us  to  speculate  in  face  of  unbroken  tradi 
tions,  though  vague,  and  losing  themselves  in  fable.  The 
traditions  have  got  footing,  and  refuse  to  be  disturbed.  The 
kitchen-clock  is  more  convenient  than  sidereal  time.  We  must 
use  the  popular  category,  as  we  do  by  the  Linnaean  classifica 
tion,  for  convenience,  and  not  as  exact  and  final.  Otherwise, 
we  are  presently  confounded,  when  the  best-settled  traits  of 
one  race  are  claimed  by  some  new  ethnologist  as  precisely 
characteristic  of  the  rival  tribe. 

I  found  plenty  of  well-marked  English  types,  the  ruddy 
complexion  fair  and  plump,  robust  men,  with  faces  cut  like  a 
die,  and  a  strong  island  speech  and  accent ;  a  Norman  type, 
with  the  complacency  that  belongs  to  that  constitution. 
Others,  who  might  be  Americans,  for  anything  that  appeared 
in  their  complexion  or  form  :  and  their  speech  was  much  less 
marked,  and  their  thought  much  less  bound.  W"e  wrill  call 
them  Saxons.  Then  the  Roman  has  implanted  his  dark  com 
plexion  in  the  trinity  or  quaternity  of  bloods. 

1.  The  sources  from  which  tradition  derives  their  stock  are 
mainly  three.  And,  first,  they  are  of  the  oldest  blood  of  the 
world,  —  the  Celtic.  Some  peoples  are  deciduous  or  transitory. 
Where  are  the  Greeks  1  where  the  Etrurians  1  where  the 
Romans  ?  But  the  Celts  or  Sidonides  are  an  old  family,  of 
whose  beginning  there  is  no  memory,  and  their  end  is  likely 
to  be  still  more  remote  in  the  future  ;  for  they  have  endurance 
and  productiveness.  They  planted  Britain,  and  gave  to  the 


\ 


RACE.  185 

seas  and  mountains  names  which  arc  poems,  and  imitate  tho 
pure  voicrs  of  nature.  They  are  favorably  remembered  in  the 
oldest  P-eords  of  Kumpe.  They  had  no  violent  feudal  tenure, 
but  the  hushandman  owned  the  land.  They  had  an  alphabet, 
i"mv.  priestly  culture,  and  a  suhlinie  creed.  Thev  have 
a  liidden  and  precarious  genius.  They  made  the  hest  popular 
literature  of  the  Middle  Ages  in  the  s.»ngs  of  Merlin,  and  the 
tender  and  delicious  mythology  of  Arthur. 

•_'.  The  Knulish  come  mainly  from  the  Germans,  whom  the 
Rinnans  found  hard  to  conquer  in  two  hundred  and  ten  years, 
—  say,  impossible  to  conquer,  —  when  one  remembers  the 
long  sequel  ;  a  people  about  whom,  in  the  old  empire,  the  ru 
mor  ran,  there  was  never  any  that  meddled  with  them  that 
repented  it  not. 

3.  Charlemagne,  halting  one  day  in  a  town  of  Narbonnese 
Gaul,  looked  out  of  a  window,  and  saw  a  fleet  of  North 
men  cruising  in  the  Mediterranean.  They  even  entered  the 
port  of  the  town  where  he  was,  causing  no  small  alarm  and 
sudden  manning  and  arming  of  his  galleys.  As  they  put  out 
i  airain,  the  emperor  gazed  long  after  them,  his  eyes 
bathed  in  tears.  "I  am  tormented  with  sorrow,"  he  said, 
"  when  I  foresee  the  evils  they  will  bring  on  my  posterity/' 
There  was  reason  for  these  Xerxes'  tears.  The  men  who 
have  built  a  ship  and  invented  the  rig,  —  cordage,  sail,  com- 
md  pump,  —  the  working  in  and  out  of  port,  have  ac 
quired  much  more  than  a  ship.  Now  arm  them,  and  everv 
shore  is  at  their  mercy.  For,  if  they  have  not  numerical  su 
periority  where  they  anchor,  they  have  only  to  sail  a  mile  or 
two  to  find  it.  Bonaparte's  art  of  war,  namely,  of  concentrat 
ing  force  on  the  point  of  attack,  must  always  be  theirs  who 
have  the  choice  of  the  battle-ground.  Of  course  they  come 
into  the  fight  from  a  higher  ground  of  power  than  the  land- 
nations;  and  can  engage  them  on  shore  with  a  victorious 
advantage  in  the  retreat.  As  soon  as  the  shores  are  sufficient 
ly  peopled  to  make  piracy  a  losing  business,  the  same  skill 
and  courage  are  ready  for  the  service  of  trade. 

The  II< -////x/r//////'/,*  or  Sagas  of  the  Kings  of  Norway,  col- 
le<-t«-d  by  Snorro  Sturle^on.  is  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  of  Eng 
lish  history.  Its  portraits,  like  Homer's,  are  strongly  indi 
vidualized.  Th"  Sagaa  describe  a  monarchical  republic  like 
Sparta.  The  government  disappears  before  the  important  of 

*  Heimskringla.    Translated  by  Samuel  Luing,  Esq.    Lor  Ion:  1844 


186  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

citizens.  In  Norway,  no  Persian  masses  fight  and  perish  to 
aggrandize  a  king,  but  the  actors  are  bonders  or  land-holders, 
every  one  of  whom  is  named  and  personally  and  patronym- 
ically  described,  as  the  king's  friend  and  companion.  A  sparse 
population  gives  this  high  worth  to  every  man.  Individuals 
are  often  noticed  as  very  handsome  persons,  which  trait  only 
brings  the  story  nearer  to  the  English  race.  Then  the  solid 
material  interest  predominates,  so  dear  to  English  understand 
ing,  wherein  the  association  is  logical,  between  merit  and  land. 
The  heroes  of  the  Sagas  are  not  the  knights  of  South  Europe. 
No  vaporing  of  France  and  Spain  has  corrupted  them.  They 
are  substantial  farmers,  whom  the  rough  times  have  forced  to 
defend  their  properties.  They  have  weapons  which  they  use 
in  a  determined  manner,  by  no  means  for  chivalry,  but  for 
their  acres.  They  are  people  considerably  advanced  in  rural 
arts,  living  amphibiously  on  a  rough  coast,  and  drawing  half 
their  food  from  the  sea,  and  half  from  the  land.  They  have 
herds  of  cows,  and  malt,  wheat,  bacon,  butter,  and  cheese. 
They  fish  in  the  fiord,  and  hunt  the  deer.  A  king  among 
these  farmers  has  a  varying  power,  sometimes  not  exceeding 
the  authority  of  a  sheriif.  A  king  was  maintained  much  as, 
in  some  of  our  country  districts,  a  winter-schoolmaster  is  quar 
tered,  a  week  here,  a  week  there,  and  a  fortnight  on  the  next 
farm,  —  on  all  the  farmers  in  rotation.  This  the  king  calls 
going  into  guest-quarters ;  and  it  was  the  only  way  in  which, 
in  a  poor  country,  a  poor  king,  with  many  retainers,  could  be 
kept  alive,  when  he  leaves  his  own  farm  to  collect  his  dues 
through  the  kingdom. 

These  Norsemen  are  excellent  persons  in  the  main,  with 
good  sense,  steadiness,  wise  speech,  and  prompt  action.  But 
they  have  a  singular  turn  for  homicide ;  their  chief  end  of 
man  is  to  murder  or  to  be  murdered  ;  oars,  scythes,  har 
poons,  crowbars,  peat-knives,  and  hayforks  are  tools  valued  by 
them  all  the  more  for  their  charming  aptitude  for  assassina 
tions.  A  pair  of  kings,  after  dinner,  will  divert  themselves 
by  thrusting  each  his  sword  through  the  other's  body,  as  did 
Yngve  and  Alf.  Another  pair  ride  out  on  a  morning  for  a 
frolic,  and,  finding  no  weapon  near,  will  take  the  bits  out  of 
their  horses'  mouths,  and  crush  each  other's  heads  with  them, 
as  did  Alric  and  Eric.  The  sight  of  a  tent-cord  or  a  cloak- 
string  puts  them  on  hanging  somebody,  a  wife,  or  a  husband, 
T,  best  of  all,  a  king.  If  a  farmer  has  so  much  as  a  hayfork, 
**3  sticks  it  into  a  King  Dag.  King  Ingiald  finds  it  vastly 


KACE.  187 

amusing  to  1mm  up  half  u  do/on  kings  in  a  hall,  after  getting 
thrni  drunk.  Never  was  poor  gentleman  so  surfeited  \viih 
hfe,  BO  furious  to  be  rid  of  it,  as  tin-  Northman.  If  he  can 
not  pick  any  other  quarrel,  he  will  get  himself  comfortahly 
gored  hy  a  hull's  horns,  like  Kgil,  or  slain  by  a  land-slide,  like 
the  agricultural  King  <  'uuiid.  Odin  died  in  his  bed,  in  8w« 
den  :  hut  it  was  a  proverb  of  ill  condition,  to  die  the  death  of 
old  aire.  Kin^  Hake  of  Sweden  cuts  and  shushes  in  hat  tie, 
as  long  as  he  caii  stand,  then  orders  his  war-ship,  loaded  with 
his  dead  men  and  their  weapons,  to  he  taken  out  to  sea,  the 
tiller  shipped,  and  the  sails  spread  ;  being  left  alone,  he  sets 
fire  to  some  tar- wood,  and  lies  down  contented  on  deck.  The 
wind  blew  oft'  the  land,  the  ship  flew  burning  in  clear  flame, 
out  Let  we.  n  the  islets  into  the  ocean,  and  there  was  the  right 
end  of  King  Hake. 

The  early  Sagas  are  sanguinary  and  piratical;  the  later  are 
of  a  noble  strain.      History   rarely  yields  us   better   pas 
than  the  conversation  between  King  Sigurd  the  Crusader,  and 
King  Kvstein,  his  brother,  on  their  respective  merits,  —  one, 
the  soldier,  and  the  other,  a  lover  of  the  arts  of  peace. 

But  the  reader  of  the  Norman  history  must  steel  himself 
by  holding  last  the  remote  compeiisat  ions  which  result  from 
animal  vigor.  As  the  old  fossil  world  shows  that  the  first 
steps  of  reducing  the  chaos  were  confided  to  saurians  and 
other  huge  and  horrible  animals,  so  the  foundations  of  the 
new  civility  were  to  be  laid  by  the  most  savage  men. 

The  Normans  came  out  of  France  into  England  worse  men 
than  they  went  into  it,  one  hundred  and  sixty  years  before. 
They  had  lost  their  own  language,  and  learned  the  Romance  or 
barbarous  Latin  of  the  Gauls;  and  had  acquired,  with  the 
language,  all  the  vices  it  had  names  for.  The  conquest  has 
obtained  in  the  chronicles,  the  name  of  the  "memory  of  sor 
row/'  Twenty  thousand  thieves  landed  at  Hastings.  These 
founders  of  the  House  of  Lords  were  greedy  and  ferocious 
dragoons,  sons  of  greedy  and  ferocious  pirates.  They  were  all 
alike,  they  took  everything  they  could  carry,  they  burned, 
harried,  violated,  tortured,  and  killed,  until  everything  KUL:- 
lish  was  brought  to  the  verge  of  ruin.  Such,  however,  is  the 
illusion  of  antiquity  and  wealth,  that  decent  and  dignified 
men  now  existing  boast  their  descent  from  these  filthy  thieves, 
who  showed  a  far  just er  conviction  of  their  own  merits,  by  as- 
Binning  for  their  types  the  swine,  goat,  jackal,  leopard,  wolf, 
and  snake,  which  they  severally  resembled. 


188  ENGLISH  TEAITS. 

England  yielded  to  the  Danes  and  Northmen  in  the  tenth 
and  eleventh  centuries,  and  was  the  receptacle  into  which  all 
the  mettle  of  that  strenuous  population  was  poured.  The 
continued  draught  of  the  best  men  in  Norway,  Sweden,  and 
Denmark,  to  these  piratical  expeditions,  exhausted  those  coun 
tries,  like  a  tree  which  bears  much  fruit  when  young,  and 
these  have  been  second-rate  powers  ever  since.  The  power  of 
the  race  migrated,  and  left  Norway  void.  King  Olaf  said  : 
"  When  King  Harold,  my  father,  went  westward  to  England, 
the  chosen  men  in  Norway  followed  him  ;  but  Norway  was 
so  emptied  then,  that  such  men  have  not  since  been  to  find  in 
the  country,  nor  especially  such  a  leader  as  King  Harold  was 
for  wisdom  and  bravery." 

It  was  a  tardy  recoil  of  these  invasions,  when,  in  1801,  the 
British  government  sent  Nelson  to  bombard  the  Danish  forts 
in  the  Sound;  and,  in  1807,  Lord  Cathcart,  at  Copenhagen, 
took  the  entire  Danish  fleet,  as  it  lay  in  the  basins,  and  all  the 
equipments  from  the  Arsenal,  and  carried  them  to  England. 
Konghelle,  the  town  where  the  kings  of  Norway,  Sweden,  and 
Denmark  were  wont  to  meet,  is  now  rented  to  a  private  Eng 
lish  gentleman  for  a  hunting-ground. 

It  took  many  generations  to  trim,  and  comb,  and  perfume 
the  first  boat-load  of  Norse  pirates  into  royal  highnesses  and 
most  noble  Knights  of  the  Garter :  but  every  sparkle  of  orna 
ment  dates  back  to  the  Norse  boat.  There  will  be  time 
enough  to  mellow  this  strength  into  civility  and  religion.  It 
is  a  medical  fact,  that  the  children  of  the  blind  see ;  the 
children  of  felons  have  a  healthy  conscience.  Many  a  mean, 
dastardly  boy  is,  at  the  age  of  puberty,  transformed  into  a 
serious  and  generous  youth. 

The  mildness  of  the  following  ages  has  not  quite  effaced 
these  traits  of  Odin ;  as  the  rudiment  of  a  structure  matured 
in  the  tiger  is  said  to  be  still  found  unabsorbed  in  the  Cau 
casian  man.  The  nation  has  a  tough,  acrid,  animal  nature, 
which  centuries  of  churching  and  civilizing  have  not  been  able 
to  sweeten.  Alfieri  said,  "the  crimes  of  Italy  were  the  proof 
of  the  superiority  of  the  stock  "  ;  and  one  may  say  of  England, 
that  this  watch  moves  on  a  splinter  of  adamant.  The  English 
uncultured  are  a  brutal  nation.  The  crimes  recorded  in  their 
calendars  leave  nothing  to  be  desired  in  the  way  of  cold  malig 
nity.  Dear  to  the  English  heart  is  a  fair  stand-up  fight.  The 
brutality  of  the  manners  in  the  lower  class  appears  in  the  box 
ing,  bear-baiting,  cock-fighting,  love  of  executions,  and  in  the 


KACE.  180 

readiness  for  a  set-to  in  the  streets,  delightful  to  the  English 
of  all  classes.  The  mstermou^rrs  "f  London  streets  hold 
cmvurdire  in  loathing  :  -  -—  "  we  must  work  our  lists  well;  we 
are  all  handy  wit.li  our  fists."  The  public  schools  are  charged 
with  being  hc-ar-gardcns  of  brutal  strength,  and  are  liked  by 
the  people  fi.r  that  cause.  The  fagging  is  a  trait  of  the  saint- 
quality.  Medwin,  in  the  Life  of  Shelley,  relates,  that,  at  a 
military  school,  they  rolled  up  a  young  man  in  a  snowball, 
and  left  him  so  in  his  room,  while  the  other  cadets  went  to 
church  ;  —  and  crippled  him  for  life.  They  have  retained  im 
pressment,  deck-flogging.  :mny-llogL:ing,  and  Bohooi-floggmg. 
Sucli  is  the  ferocity  of  the  army  discipline,  that  a  soldier  sen- 
teneed  to  flogging,  sometimes  pravs  that  his  sentence  may  he 
commuted  to  death.  Flogging  banished  from  the  armies  of 
Wotern  Europe,  remains  here  by  the  sanction  of  the  Duke  of 
Wellington.  The  right  of  the  husband  to  sell  the  wife  has 
been  retained  down  to  our  times.  The  Jews  have  been  the 
fa^>rite  victims  of  roval  and  popular  persecution.  Henry  III. 
mortgaged  all  the  Jews  in  the  kingdom  to  his  brother,  the 
Karl  of  ('ornwall.  as  security  for  money  which  he  borrowed. 
The  torture  of  criminals,  and  the  rack  for  extorting  evidence, 
were  slowly  disused.  Of  the  criminal  statutes,  Sir  Samuel 
Komilly  said,  "  I  have  examined  the  codes  of  all  nations,  and 
onrs  is  the  worst,  and  worthy  of  the  Anthropophagi."  In  the 
last  session,  the  House  of  Commons  was  listening  to  details  of 
flogging  and  torture  practised  in  the  jails. 

A-  soon  as  this  land,  thus  geographically  posted,  got  a  hardy 
people  into  it,  they  could  not  help  becoming  the  sailors  and 
factors  of  the  globe.  From  childhood,  they  dabbled  in  water, 
they  swum  like  nshes,  their  playthings  were  boats.  In  the 
"f  the  ship-money,  the  judges  delivered  it  for  law,  that 
'•  England  being  an  island,  the  very  midland  shires  therein 
are  all  to  be  accounted  maritime "  :  and  Fuller  adds,  "  the 
genius  even  of  land-locked  countries  driving  the  natives  with  a 
maritime  dexterity."  As  early  as  the  conquest,  it  is  remarked 
in  explanation  of  the  wealth  of  England,  that  its  merchants 
trade  to  all  countries. 

The  English,  at  the  present  day,  have  great  vigor  of  body 
and  endurance.  Other  countrymen  look  slight  and  undersi/"d 
beside  them,  and  invalids.  Theyjire  bigger_men  than  the 
Americans.  I  suppose  a  hundred  English  taken  at  random 
oufc-ef  the  street  would  wej-h  a  fourth  more  than  so  many 
Americans.  Yet,  I  am  told,  the  skeleton  is  not  larger.  They 


190  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

are  round,  ruddy,  and  handsome  ;  at  least,  the  whole  bust  is 
well  formed  ;  and  there  is  a  tendency  to  stout  and  powerful 
frames.  I  remarked  the  stoutness,  on  my  first  landing  at 
Liverpool  ;  porter,  drayman,  coachman,  guard,  —  what  sub 
stantial,  respectable,  grandfatherly  figures,  with  costume  and 
manners  to  suit.  The  American  has  arrived  at  the  old  man 
sion-house,  and  finds  himself  among  uncles,  aunts,  and  grand- 
sires.  The  pictures  on  the  chimney-tiles  of  his  nursery  were 
pictures  of  these  people.  Here  they  are  in  the  identical  cos 
tumes  and  air,  which  so  took  him. 

It  is  the  fault  of  their  forms  that  they  grow  stocky,  and  the 
women  have  that  disadvantage,  —  few  tall,  slender  "figures  of 
flowing  shape,  but  stunted  and  thickset  persons.  The  French 
say,  that  the  Englishwomen  have  two  left  hands.  But,  in  all 
ages,  they  are  a  handsome  race.  The  bronze  monuments  of 
crusaders  lying  cross-legged,  in  the  Temple  Church  at  London, 
and  those  in  Worcester  and  in  Salisbury  Cathedrals,  which  are 
seven  hundred  years  old,  arc  of  the  same  type  as  the  best 
youthful  heads  of  men  now  in  England  ;  —  please  by  beauty  of 
the  same  character,  an  expression  blending  good-nature,  valor, 
and  refinement,  and,  mainly,  by  that  uncorrupt  youth  in  the 
face  of  manhood,  which  is  daily  seen  in  the  streets  of  Lon 
don. 

Both  branches  of  the  Scandinavian  race  are  distinguished 
for  beauty.  The  anecdote  of  the  handsome  captives  which 
Saint  Gregory  found  at  Rome,  A.  D.  600,  is  matched  by  the 
testimony  of  the  Norman  chroniclers,  five  centuries  later,  who 
wondered  at  the  beauty  and  long  flowing  hair  of  the  young 
English  captives.  Meantime,  the  Heimskringla  has  frequent 
occasion  to  speak  of  the  personal  beauty  of  its  heroes.  When 
it  is  considered  what  humanity,  what  resources  of  mental  and 
moral  power,  the  traits  of  the  blond  race  betoken,  —  its  ac 
cession  to  empire  marks  a  new  and  finer  epoch,  wherein  the 
old  mineral  force  shall  be  subjugated  at  last  by  humanity,  and 
shall  plough  in  its  furrow  henceforward.  It  is  not  a  final  race, 
once  a  crab  always  crab,  but  a  race  with  a  future. 

On  the  English  face  are  combined  decision  and  nerve,  with 
the  fair  complexion,  blue  eyes,  and  open  and  florid  aspect. 
Hence  the  love  of  truth,  hence  the  sensibility,  the  fine  per 
ception,  and  poetic  construction.  The  fair  Saxon  man,  with 
open  front,  and  honest  meaning,  domestic,  affectionate,  is  not 
the  wood  out  of  which  cannibal,  or  inquisitor,  or  assassin  is 
made.  But  he  is  moulded  for  law,  lawful  trade,  civility,  mar- 


RACE.  191 

riagc,  the  nurture  of  children,  for  colleges,  churches,  charities, 
jind  IN 'Ionics. 

They  are  rather  manly  than  warlike.  When  the  war  is 
over,  the  mask  falls  from  the  affectionate  and  domestic  tastes, 
which  make  them  women  in  kindness.  This  union  of  qualities 
is  fabled  in  their  national  legend  of  HtKufi/  <tu<l  tin-  /!<axt,  or 
Ion:  before,  in  the  Creek  legend  of  Hermaphrodite.  The  two 
are  co-present  in  the  English  mind.  I  apply  to  Britan 
nia,  queen  of  seas  and  colonies,  the  words  in  which  her  latest 
novelist  portravs  his  heroine  :  "  she  is  as  mild  as  she  is  game, 
and  as  game  'as  she  is  mild."  The  English  delight  in  the 
a:it monism,  which  combines  in  one  person  the  extremes  of 
courage  and  tenderness.  Nelson,  dying  at  Trafalgar,  sends 
his  love  to  Lord  Collingwood,  and,  like  an  innocent  school-boy 
that  goes  to  bed.  BajB,  i%  Kiss  me,  Hardy,"  and  turns  to  sleeu. 
Lord  Collingwood,  his  comrade,  was  of  a  nature  the  most  af 
fectionate  and  domestic.  Admiral  Rodney's  figure  approached 
to  delicacy  and  effeminacy,  and  ho  declared  himself  very  sen 
sible  to  fear,  which  he  surmounted  only  by  considerations  of 
honor  and  public  duty.  Clarendon  says,  the  Duke  of  Buck 
ingham  was  so  modest  and  gentle,  that  some  courtiers  at 
tempted  to  put  affronts  on  him,  until  they  found  that  this 
modesty  and  effeminacy  was  only  a  mask  for  the  most  terrible 
determination.  And  Sir  Edward  Parry  said,  the  other  day, 
of  Sir  John  Franklin,  that,  "  if  he  found  Wellington  Sound 
open,  he  explored  it ;  for  he  was  a  man  who  never  turned  his 
back  on  a  danger,  yet  of  that  tenderness,  that  he  would  not 
brush  away  a  mosquito."  Even  for  their  highwaymen  the 
same  virtue  is  claimed,  and  Robin  Hood  comes  described  to  us 
as  mitixxiiit>/.<  /'/•<"/<;// >///*,  the  gentlest  thief.  But  they  know 
where  their  war-dogs  lie.  Cromwell,  Blake,  Marl  borough, 
Chatham,  Nelson,  and  Wellington  are  not  to  be  tritled  with, 
and  the  brutal  strength  which  lies  at  the  bottom  of  society, 
the  animal  ferocity  of  the  quays  and  cockpits,  the  bullies  of 
the  costennoiigers  of  Shorcditch,  Seven  Dials,  and  Spitalfields, 
they  know  how  to  wake  up. 

They  have  a  vigorous  health,  and  last  well  into  middle  and 
old  age.  The  old  men  are  as  red  as  roses,  and  still  handsonu1. 
A  clear  skin,  a  peach-bloom  complexion,  and  Lfood  teeth,  are 
found  all  over  the  island.  They  use  a  plentiful  and  nutritious 
diet.  The  operative  cannot  subsist  on  water-cresses.  i>t-rf, 
mutton,  wheat-bread,  and  malt  liquors  are  universal  among 
the  first-class  laborers.  Cloud  feeding  is  a  chief  point  of  na- 


192  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

tional  pride  among  th'e  vulgar,  and,  in  their  caricatures,  they 
represent  the  Frenchman  as  a  poor,  starved  body.  It  is  curious 
that  Tacitus  found  the  English  beer  already  in  use  among  the 
Germans  :  "  they  make  from  barley  or  wheat  a  drink  corrupted 
into  some  resemblance  to  wine."  Lord  Chief  Justice  Fortescue 
in  Henry  VI.'s  time,  says  :  "  The  inhabitants  of  England  drink  no 
water,  unless  at  certain  times,  on  a  religious  score,  and  by  way 
of  penance."  The  extremes  of  poverty  and  ascetic  penance, 
it  would  seem,  never  reach  cold  water  in  England.  Wood,  the 
antiquary,  in  describing  the  poverty  and  maceration  of  Father 
Lacey,  an  English  Jesuit,  does  not  deny  him  beer.  He  says, 
"  his  bed  was  under  a  thatching,  and  the  way  to  it  up  a  ladder  ; 
his  fare  was  coarse  ;  his  drink,  of  a  penny  a  gawn,  or  gallon." 

They  have  more  constitutional  energy  than  any  other  peo 
ple.  They  think,  with  Henri  Quatre,  that  manly  exercises  are 
the  foundation  of  that  elevation  of  mind  which  gives  one  nature 
ascendant  over  another;  or,  with  the  Arabs,  that  the  days 
spent  in  the  chase  are  not  counted  in  the  length  of  life.  They 
box,  run,  shoot,  ride,  row,  and  sail  from  pole  to  pole.  They 
eat  and  drink,  and  live  jo^ly  in  the  open  air,  putting  a  bar  of 
solid  sleep  between  day  and  day.  They  walk  and  ride  as  fast 
as  they  can,  their  heads  bent  forward,  as  if  urged  on  some 
pressing  affair.  The  French  say,  that  Englishmen  in  the  street 
always  walk  straight  before  them  like  mad  dogs.  Men  and 
women  walk  with  infatuation.  As  soon  as  he  can  handle  a 
gun,  hunting  is  the  fine  art  of  every  Englishman  of  condition. 
They  are  the  most  voracious  people  of  prey  that  ever  existed. 
Every  season  turns  out  the  aristocracy  into  the  country,  to 
shoot  and  fish.  The  more  vigorous  run  out  of  the  island  to 
Europe,  to  America,  to  Asia,  to  Africa,  and  Australia,  to  hunt 
with  fury  by  gun,  by  trap,  by  harpoon,  by  lasso,  with  dog,  with 
horse,  with  elephant,  or  with  dromedary,  all  the  game  that  is 
in  nature.  These  men  have  written  the  game-books  of  all 
countries,  as  Hawker,  Scrope,  Murray,  Herbert,  Maxwell,  Gum 
ming,  and  a  host  of  travellers.  The  people  at  home  are  ad 
dicted  to  boxing,  running,  leaping,  and  rowing  matches. 

I  suppose,  the  dogs  and  horses  must  be  thanked  for  the  fact, 
that  the  men  have  muscles  almost  as  tough  and  supple  as  their 
own.  If  in  every  efficient  man,  there  is  first  a  fine  animal,  in 
the  English  race  it  is  of  the  best  breed,  a  wealthy,  juicy,  broad- 
chested  creature,  steeped  in  ale  and  good  cheer,  and  a  little 
overloaded  by  his  flesh.  Men  of  animal  nature  rely,  like  an? 
mals,  on  their  instincts.  The  Englishman  associates  well  with 


KACE.  193 

His  attachment  to  tin-  horse  arises  from  the 

courage  and  addrev-  required  to  manage  it.  The  horse  iinds 
out  \\lio  is  afraid  of  it,  and  does  not  disguise  its  opinion. 
Their  young  boiling  clerks  aud  IUMV  collegians  like  the  com 
pany  of  horses  better  than  the  company  of  professors.  I  Mip- 
jM)se,  the  horses  are  better  company  for  them.  The  horse  has 
more  uses  than  BuffoD  noted.  If  you  go  into  the  streets,  every 
driver  in  1ms  or  dray  is  ;i  bully,  and,  if  J  wanted  a  good  troop 
of  soldiers.  1  should  reeruit  among  the  stables.  Add  a  certain 
dc'jree  of  refinement  to  the  vivacity  of  these  riders,  and  von 
obtain  the  precise  quality  which  makes  the  men  and  women  of 
polite  society  formidable. 

They  come  honestly  by  tl  Ar  horsemanship,  with  Hniytt  and 
ll<.r#i  for  their  Savu  founders.  The  other  branch  of  their 
race  had  been  Tartar  nomads.  The  horse  was  all  their  wealth. 
The  children  were  fed  on  mares'  milk.  The  pastures  of  Tar- 
tary  were  still  remembered  by  the  tenacious  practice  of  the 
Norsemen  to  eat  horse-llesh  at  religious  feasts.  In  the  Danish 
>ns,  the  manuiden  sei/ed  upon  hoi-ses  where  thev  landed, 
and  were  at  once  converted  into  a  body  of  expert  cavalrv. 

At  one  time,  this  skill  seems  to  have  declined.  Two  centu 
ries  ago,  the  English  horse  never  performed  any  eminent  service 
beyond  the  seas  ;  and  the  reason  assigned,  was,  that,  the  genius 
of  the  English  hath  always  more  inclined  them  to  foot-service, 
as  pure  and  proper  manhood,  without  any  mixture;  whilst,  in 
a  victory  on  horseback,  the  credit  ought  to  be  divided  betwixt 
the  man  and  his  horse.  But  in  two  hundred  years,  a  change 
has  taken  place.  Now,  thev  boast  that  they  understand  In  rses 
than  anv  other  people  in  the  world,  and  that  their  h<  rm 
are  Uv,,me  th<>ir  second  selves. 

"William  the  Conqueror  being."  says  Camden,  "better 
affected  to  beasts  than  to  men.  imposed  heavy  tines  and  pun 
ishments  on  those  that  should  meddle  with  hit  game."  The 
Saxon  Chronicle  says,  "he  loved  the  tall  deer  as  if  he  were 
their  father."  And  rich  Englishmen  have  followed  his  example, 
according  to  their  ability,  ever  since,  in  encroaching  on  the  til- 
!airf  and  commons  with  their  game-preserve^.  It  is  a  proverb 
in  Kiiirland,  that  it  is  safer  to  shoot  a  man  than  a  hare.  The 
rieverirv  of  the  Lfame-laws  certainly  indicates  an  extravagant 
sympathy  of  the  nation  with  horses  and  hunters.  The  gen 
tlemen  are  always  on  horseback,  and  have  brought  horses  to 
an  ideal  perfection, — the  English  racer  is  a  factitious  breed. 
A  score  or  two  of  mounted  gentlemen  may  frequently  be  seen 

VOL.  ji.  9  'M 


194  ENGLISH    TRAITS. 

running  like  centaurs  down  a  hill  nearly  as  steep  as  tne  roof 
of  a  house.  Every  inn-room  is  lined  with  pictures  of  races  ; 
telegraphs  communicate,  every  hour,  tidings  of  the  heats  from 
Newmarket  and  Ascot  :  and  the  House  of  Commons  adjourns 
over  the  '  Derby  Day.' 


CHAPTER  V. 

ABILITY. 

THE  Saxon  and  the  Northman  are  both  Scandinavians. 
History  does  not  allow  ns  to  fix  the  limits  of  the  appli 
cation  of  these  names  with  any  accuracy ;  but  from  the  resi 
dence  of  a  portion  of  these  people  in  France,  and  from  some 
effect  of  that  powerful  soil  on  their  blood  and  manners,  the 
Norman  has  come  popularly  to  represent  in  England  the  aris 
tocratic,  and  the  Saxon  the  democratic  principle.  And 
though,  I  doubt  not,  the  nobles  are  of  both  tribes,  and  the 
workers  of  both,  yet  we  are  forced  to  use  the  names  a  little 
mythically,  one  to  represent  the  wTorker,  and  the  other  the 
enjoy  er. 

The  island  was  a  prize  for  the  best  race.  Each  of  the  domi 
nant  races  tried  its  fortune  in  turn.  The  Phoenician,  the  Celt, 
and  the  Goth,  had  already  got  in.  The  Roman  came,  but  in 
the  very  day  when  his  fortune  culminated.  He  looked  in  the 
eyes  of  a  new  people  that  was  to  supplant  his  own.  He  dis 
embarked  his  legions,  erected  his  camps  and  towers,  —  pres 
ently  he  heard  bad  news  from  Italy,  and  worse  and  worse,  every 
year  :  at  last,  he  made  a  handsome  compliment  of  roads  and 
walls,  and  departed.  But  the  Saxon  seriously  settled  in  the 
land,  builded,  tilled,  fished,  and  traded,  with  German  truth  and 
adhesiveness.  The  Dane  came,  and  divided  with  him.  Last 
of  all,  the  Norman,  or  French-Dane,  arrived,  and  formally  con 
quered,  harried,  and  ruled  the  kingdom.  A  century  later,  it 
came  out,  that  the  Saxon  had  the  most  bottom  and  longevity, 
had  managed  to  make  the  victor  speak  the  language  and  accept 
the  law  and  usage  of  the  victim ;  forced  the  baron  to  dictate 
Saxon  terms  to  Norman  kings  ;  and,  step  by  step,  got  all  tho 
essential  securities  of  civil  liberty  invented  and  confirmed. 
The  genius  of  the  race  and  the  genius  of  the  place  conspired 


ABILITY.  195 

to  this  effect.  The  island  is  lucrative  to  free  labor,  hut  not 
worth  possession  on  other  terms.  The  race  was  so  intellect  :i:.l. 
that  a  feudal  or  military  tenure  could  not  last  lon-vr  than  tho 
war.  'I'hc  power  of  the  Sa\.»n  I  >ancs.  so  thoroughly  beaten  iu 
the  war.  that  the  name  of  Kn.u'lish  and  villein  were  synonymous, 
yet  so  vivacious  as  to  extort,  charters  from  the  kind's,  stood  on 
the  strong  personality  of  these  people.  Sense  and  economy 
must  rule  in  a  world  which  is  made  of  sense  and  economy,  and 
tin-  I -anker,  with  his  seven  percent,  drives  the  earl  out  of  his 
castle.  A  nobility  of  soldiers  cannot  keep  down  a  commonalty 
of  >hrewd  scientific  persons.  \Yhat  siirnilies  a  pedigree  of  a 
hundred  links,  airainst  a  cotton-spinner  wit h  steam  in  his  mill  ; 
or.  against  a  company  of  broad-shouldered  Liverpool  merchants, 
for  wh<>m  Stephensonand  Brunei  are  contriving  locomotives  and 
a  tubular  bridge } 

These  Saxons  are  the  hands  of  mankind.  They  have  the 
taste  for  toil,  a  distaste  for  pleasure  <>r  repose,  and  the  telescopic 
appreciation  of  distant  ^ain.  They  are  the  wealth-makers,— 
and  by  dint  of  mental  faculty  which  has  its  own  conditions. 
The  Saxon  works  alter  likinir,  or,  only  for  himself;  and  to  set 
him  at  work,  and  to  be^in  to  draw  his  monstrous  values  out  of 
barren  Britain,  all  dishonor,  fret,  and  barrier  must  be  removed, 
and  then  his  energies  lu^in  to  play. 

The  Scandinavian  fancied  himself  surrounded  by  Trolls,— 
a  kind  of  goblin  men,  with  vast,  power  of  work  and  skilful  pro 
duction, —  divine  stevedores,  carpenters,  reapers,  smiths,  and 
ma <ons,  swift  to  reward  every  kindness  done  them,  with  irifts 
of  -_f"ld  and  silver.  In  all  Knirlish  history,  this  dream  comes 
to  pass.  Certain  Trolls  or  working  brains,  under  the  names  ..f 
Alfred,  Bcdc.  Caxton.  l.racton,  ( 'amden.  Drake,  Seldcn,  Di\g- 
dale.  Newton.  (Jihhon.  Brindlev,  W.-itt,  \VedLrwood.  dwell  in  the 
troll-mounts  of  Britain,  and  turn  the  sweat  of  their  face  to 
power  and  renown. 

If  the  race  is  Lfood.  so  is  the  place.  Nobody  landed  on  this 
spell-bound  island  with  impunity.  The  enchantments  of  bar 
ren  shiiiLrlo  and  ron.L-h  weather  transformed  every  adventurer 
into  a  laborer.  Kach  vagabond  that  arrived  bent  his  neck  to 
the  yoke  of  LTM'U,  or  found  the  air  too  tense  for  him.  The 
strong  survived,  the  weaker  went  to  the  ground.  Kvrn  the 
pleasure-hunters  and  sots  of  Kn;_rland  are  of  a  touirhrr  texture. 
A  hard  temperament  had  been  formed  by  Saxon  and  S-i\oii- 
Bane,  and  such  of  these  l-'ivn<-h  or  Normans  as  could  reach  it, 
Were  naturalized  in  every  sense. 


196  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

All  the  admirable  expedients  or  means  hit  upon  in  England, 
must  be  looked  at  as  growths  or  irresistible  offshoots  of  the 
expanding  mind  of  the  race.  A  man  of  that  brain  thinks  and 
acts  thus  ;  and  his  neighbor,  being  afflicted  with  the  same  kind 
of  brain,  though  he  is  rich,  and  called  a  baron,  or  a  duke, 
thinks  the  same  thing,  and  is  ready  to  allow  the  justice  of  the 
thought  and  act  in  his  retainer  or  tenant,  though  sorely  against 
his  baronial  or  ducal  will. 

The  island  was  renowned  in  antiquity  for  its  breed  of  mas 
tiffs,  so  fierce,  that  when  their  teeth  were  set,  you  must  cut 
their  heads  off  to  part  them.  The  man  was  like  his  dog.  The 
people  have  that  nervous  bilious  temperament,  which  is  known 
by  medical  men  to  resist  every  means  employed  to  make  its 
possessor  subservient  to  the  wall  of  others.  The  English  game 
is  main  force  to  main  force,  the  planting  of  foot  to  foot,  fair 
play  and  open  field,  —  a  rough  tug  without  trick  or  dodging, 
till  one  or  both  come  to  pieces.  King  Ethel  wald  spoke  the 
language  of  his  race,  when  he  planted  himself  at  Wimborne, 
and  said,  '  he  would  do  one  of  two  things,  or  there  live,  or 
there  lie.'  They  hate  craft  and  subtlety.  They  neither  poison, 
nor  waylay,  nor  assassinate  ;  and,  when  they  have  pounded 
each  other  to  a  poultice,  they  will  shake  hands  and  be  friends 
for  the  remainder  of  their  lives. 

You  shall  trace  these  Gothic  touches  at  school,  at  country 
fairs,  at  the  hustings,  and  in  parliament.  No  artifice,  no  breach 
of  truth  and  plain  dealing,  —  not  so  much  as  secret  ballot,  is 
suffered  in  the  island.  In  parliament,  the  tactics  of  the  op 
position  is  to  resist  every  step  of  the  government,  by  a  pitiless 
attack  ;  and  in  a  bargain,  no  prospect  of  advantage  is  so  dear 
to.  the  merchant,  as  the  thought  of  being  tricked  is  mortify 
ing. 

Sir  Kenelm  Digby,  a  courtier  of  Charles  and  James,  who 
won  the  sea-fight  of  Scanderoon,  was  a  model  Englishman  in 
his  day.  "  His  person  was  handsome  and  gigantic,  he  had  so 
graceful  elocution  and  noble  address,  that,  had  he  been  dropt 
out  of  the  clouds  in  any  part  of  the  world,  he  would  have  made 
himself  respected  :  he  was  skilled  in  six  tongues,  and  master 
of  arts  and  arms."  *  Sir  Kenelm  wrote  a  book,  "  Of  Bodies 
and  of  Souls,"  in  which  he  propounds,  that  "  syllogisms  do  breed 
or  rather  are  all  the  variety  of  man's  life.  They  are  the  steps 
by  which  we  walk  in  all  our  businesses.  Man,  as  he  is  man, 
doth  nothing  else  but  weave  such  chains.  Whatsoever  he 

*  Antony  Wood. 


ABILITY.  197 

doth,  pwarvinu'  from  this  work,  lie  doth  as  deficient  from  thy 
nature  <»t' man  :  and.  if  he  do  aught  beyond  this,  by-breaking 
out  into  divors  MTIS  of  exterior  actions,  he  tiudeth,  neverthe- 
less,  in  this  linked  sequel  of  simple  discourses,  the  art,  the 
cause,  the  rule,  the  hounds,  and  the  model  of  it."  * 

There  spoke  the  iron i us  of  the  English  people.  There  is  a 
rity  on  them  to  he  logical.  They  would  hardly  greet  the 
good  that  did  not  logically  fall, — us  if  it  excluded  their  own 
merit,  or  shook  their  understandings.  They  are  jealous  of 
minds  that  have  much  facility  of  association,  from  an  instinc 
tive  fear  that  the  seeing  many  relations  to  their  thought  mi.ir.ht 
impair  this  serial  continuity  and  lucrative  concentration.  They 
are  impatient  of  genius,  or  of  minds  addicted  to  contemplation, 
and  cannot  conceal  their  contempt  for  sallies  of  thought,  how 
ever  lawful,  whose  steps  they  cannot  count  hy  their  wonted 
rule.  Neither  do  they  reckon  better  a  syllogism  tint  ends  in 
syllogism.  For  they  have  a  supreme  eye  to  facts,  and  theirs 
is  a  logic  that  brings  salt  to  soup,  hammer  to  nail,  oar  to  hoat, 
the  logic  of  cooks,  carpenters,  and  chemists,  following  the 
sequence  of  nature,  and  one  on  which  words  make1  no  impres 
sion.  Their  mind  is  not  da/./led  hy  its  own  means,  but  locked 
and  bolted  to  results.  They  love  men.  who,  like  Samuel  John 
son,  a  doctor  in  tho  schools,  would  jump  out  of  his  syllogism 
the  instant  his  major  proposition  was  in  danger,  to  save  that, 
at  all  ha/ards.  Their  practical  vision  is  spacious,  and  they 
can  hold  many  threads  without  entangling  them.  All  the 
•  hev  orderly  take  ;  but  with  the  high  logic  of  never  con 
founding  the  minor  and  major  proposition;  keeping  their  eye 
on  their  aim,  in  all  the  complicity  and  delay  incident  to  the 
several  series  of  means  they  employ.  There  is  room  in  their 
minds  for  this  and  that,  —  a  science  of  degrees.  In  the  courts, 
the  independence  of  the  judges  and  the  loyalty  of  the  suitors 
are  equally  excellent.  In  Parliament,  they  have  hit  on  that 
capital  invention  of  freedom,  a  constitutional  opposition.  And 
when  courts  and  parliament  are  both  deaf,  the  plaintiff  is  not 
silenced.  Calm,  patient,  his  weapon  of  defence  from  year  to 
year  is  the  obstinate  reproduction  of  the  grievance,  with  cal 
culations  and  estimates.  But,  meantime,  he  is  drawing  num 
bers  and  m  >nev  to  his  opinion,  resolved  that  if  all  remedy  fails, 
right  of  revolution  is  at  the  bottom  of  his  charter-box.  They 
are  bound  to  see  their  measure  carried,  and  stick  to  it  through 
ages  of  defeat. 

*  Man's  Soulc,  p.  29. 


198  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

Into  this  English  logic,  however,  an  infusion  of  justice  enters, 
not  so  apparent  in  other  races,  —  a  belief  in  the  existence  ot 
two  sides,  and  the  resolution  to  see  fair  play.  There  is  on 
every  question,  an  appeal  from  the  assertion  of  the  parties,  to 
the  proof  of  what  is  asserted.  They  are  impious  in  their  scep 
ticism  of  a  theory,  but  kiss  the  dust  before  a  fact.  Is  it  a 
machine,  is  it  a  charter,  is  it  a  boxer  in  the  ring,  is  it  a  candi 
date  on  the  hustings,  —  the  universe  of  Englishmen  will  sus 
pend  their  judgment,  until  the  trial  can  be  had.  They  are 
not  to  be  led  by  a  phrase,  they  want  a  working  plan,  a  working 
machine,  a  working  constitution,  and  will  sit  out  the  trial,  and 
abide  by  the  issue,  and  reject  all  preconceived  theories.  In 
politics  they  put  blunt  questions,  which  must  be  answered  ; 
who  is  to  pay  the  taxes  I  what  will  you  do  for  trade  ']  what  for 
corn  ?  what  for  the  spinner  1 

This  singular  fairness  and  its  results  strike  the  French  with 
surprise.  Philip  de  Commines  says  :  "  Now,  in  my  opinion, 
among  all  the  sovereignties  1  know  in  the  world,  that  in  which 
the  public  good  is  best  attended  to,  and  the  least  violence  exer 
cised  on  the  people,  is  that  of  England."  Life  is  safe,  and  per 
sonal  rights  ;  and  what  is  freedom,  without  security  ]  whilst,  in 
France,  '  fraternity,'  *  equality/  and  k  indivisible  unity,'  arc 
names  for  assassination.  Montesquieu  said  :  "  England  is  the 
freest  country  in  the  world.  If  a  man  in  England  had  as 
many  enemies  as  hairs  on  his  head,  no  harm  would  happen  to 
him/' 

Their  self-respect,  their  faith  in  causation,  and  their  realis 
tic  logic  or  coupling  of  means  to  ends,  have  given  them  the 
leadership  of  the  modern  world.  Montesquieu  said,  "  Xo 
people  have  true  common  sense  but  those  who  are  born  in 
England."  This  common  sense  is  a  perception  of  all  the  con 
ditions  of  our  earthly  existence,  of  laws  that  can  be  stated, 
and  of  laws  that  cannot  be  stated,  or  that  are  learned  only  by 
practice,  in  which  allowance  for  friction  is  made.  They  are 
impious  in  their  scepticism  of  theory,  and  in  high  depart 
ments  they  are  cramped  and  sterile.  But  the  unconditional 
surrender  to  facts,  and  the  choice  of  means  to  reach  their  ends, 
are  as  admirable  as  with  ants  and  bees. 

The  bias  of  the  nation  is  a  passion  for  utility.  They  love 
the  lever,  the  screw,  and  pulley,  the  Flanders  draught-horse, 
the  waterfall,  wind-mills,  tide-mills  ;  the  sea  and  the  wind  to 
bear  their  freight  ships.  More  than  the  diamond  Kah-i-noor, 
which  glitters  among  their  crown  jewels,  they  prize  that  dull 


ABILITY.  199 


pebble  which   is  wiser  than   :i    man,    who^p   poles  turn   them- 
to  the  poles   of  tin-  world.  Mini  I  I    is  parallel    to 

tla-  axis  of  the  world.  Now,  their  toys  are  steam  and  galvan 
ism.  Thev  are  heavy  at  the  line  ;u~ts,  but.  adroit  at  the  <•« 
not  good  in  jewelry  «r  m<-saies,  hut  the  best  iron  -in:. 
colliers.  w<»'I  «••  .inhere,  and  tanners,  in  Kuropc.  They  apply 
thenix'lves  t<.  H-rirultiire,  t"  draining  to  resisting  encroach 
ments  of  >ea,  wind,  travelling  sain  Is,  cold  uiid  \set  subsoil;  to 
fishery,  to  manufacture  of  indispensable  staples,  —salt,  plum- 
le.-ither.  wool,  irlass,  jxtttery,  ami  lu'ick,  —  to  l»ees  and 
silk\V(jrms;  and  hy  their  steady  combinations  they  succeed. 
A  manufacturer  sits  down  to  dinner  in  a  suit  of  clothes  which 
was  wool  on  a  sheep's  hark  at  sunrise.  You  dine  with  a  gen 
tleman  on  venison,  pheasant,  quail,  pigeons,  poultry,  mush 
rooms,  and  pine-apples,  all  the  growth  of  his  estate.  They  are 
neat  husbands  for  ordering  all  their  tools  pertaining  to  house 
and  field.  All  are  well  kept.  There  is  no  want  and  no 
They  study  use  and  fitness  in  their  building,  in  the  order  of 
their  dwellings,  and  in  their  dress.  The  Frenchman  invented 
the  rutlle,  the  Knglishmaii  added  the  shirt.  The  Englishman 
wears  a  sensible  n  at  buttoned  to  the  chin,  of  rough  but  solid 
and  lasting  texture.  If  he  is  a  lord,  he  dresses  a  little  worse 
than  a  commoner.  They  have  diffused  the  taste  for  plain  sub 
stantial  hats,  shoes,  and  coats  through  Europe.  They  think 
him  the  b.  d  man,  whose  dress  is  so  fit  for  hi 

that  you  cannot  notice  or  remember  to  describe  it. 

They  secure  the  essentials  in  their  diet,  in  their  ails,  and  man 
ufactures.  Every  article  of  cutlery  shows,  in  its  shape,  thought 
and  long  experience  of  workmen.  They  put  the  exjie; 
the  right  place,  as,  in  their  sea-steamers,  in  the  solidity  of  the 
machinery  and  the  strength  of  the  boat.  The  admirable 
equipment  of  their  arctic  ships  carries  London  to  the  pole. 
They  build  roads,  aqueducts,  warm  and  ventilate  houses. 
And  they  have  injpiw-ed  their  directness  and  practical  habit 
on  modern  civilization. 

Tn  trade,  the  Englishman  believes  that  nobody  breaks  who 
ouurht  not  to  break  ;  and,  that,  if  he  do  not  make  trade  every 
thing,  it  will  make  him  nothing  ;  and  acts  on  this  l»elief.  The 
spirit  of  system,  attention  to  details,  and  the  subordination  of 
details,  or,  the  not  driving  tilings  too  finely,  (which  is  charged 
on  the  (Germans,)  constitute  that  despatch  of  business,  which 
makes  the  mercantile  power  of  England. 

In  war,  the  Englishman  looks  to  his  means.     He  is  of  the 


200  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

opinion  of  Civilis,  his  German  ancestor,  whom  Tacitus  reports 
as  holding  "  that  the  gods  are  on  the  side  of  the  strongest  "  ; 
—  a  sentence  which  Bonaparte  unconsciously  translated,  when 
he  said,  "  that  he  had  noticed,  that  Pro vidence_jil ways  favored 
the -heaviest  battalion."  Their  military  science  propounds 
that  if  the  weight  of  the  advancing  column  is  greater  than 
that  of  the  resisting,  the  latter  is  destroyed.  Therefore  Wel 
lington,  when  he  came  to  the  army  in  Spain,  had  every  man 
weighed,  first  with  accoutrements,  and  then  without ;  believ 
ing  that  the  force  of  an  army  depended  on  the  weight  and 
power  of  the  individual  soldiers,  in  spite  of  cannon.  Lord 
Palmerston  told  the  House  of  Commons,  that  more  care  is 
taken  of  the  health  and  comfort  of  English  troops  than  of 
any  other  troops  in  the  world  ;  and  that  hence  the  English 
can  put  more  men  into  the  rank,  on  the  day  of  action,  on  the 
field  of  battle,  than  any  other  army.  Before  the  bombard 
ment  of  the  Danish  forts  in  the  Baltic,  Nelson  spent  day  af 
ter  day,  himself  in  the  boats,  on  the  exhausting  service  of 
sounding  the  channel.  Clerk  of  Eldin's  celebrated  manoeu 
vre  of  breaking  the  line  of  sea-battle,  and  Nelson's  feat  of 
doubling,  or  stationing  his  ships  one  on  the  outer  bow,  and 
another  on  the  outer  quarter  of  each  of  the  enemy's  were  only 
translations  into  naval  tactics  of  Bonaparte's  rule  of  concen 
tration.  Lord  Collingwood  was  accustomed  to  tell  his  men, 
that,  if  they  could  fire  three  well-directed  broadsides  in  five 
minutes,  no  vessel  could  resist  them  ;  and,  from  constant 
practice,  they  came  to  do  it  in  three  minutes  and  a  half. 

But  conscious  that  no  race  of  better  men  exists,  they  rely 
most  on  the  simplest  means  ;  and  do  not  like  ponderous  and 
difficult  tactics,  but  delight  to  bring  the  affair  hand  to  hand, 
where  the  victory  lies  with  the  strength,  courage,  and  endur 
ance  of  the  individual  combatants.  They  adopt  every  im 
provement  in  rig,  in  motor,  in  weapons,  but  they  fundamen 
tally  believe  that  the  best  stratagem  in  naval  war  is  to  lay 
your  ship  close  alongside  of  the  enemy's  ship,  and  bring  all 
your  guns  to  bear  on  him,  until  you  or  he  go  to  the  bottom. 
This  is  the  old  fashion,  which  never  goes  out  of  fashion,  nei 
ther  in  nor  out  of  England. 

It  is  not  usually  a  point  of  honor,  nor  a  religious  senti 
ment,  and  never  any  whim  that  they  will  shed  their  blood 
for;  but  usually  property,  and  right  measured  by  property, 
that  breeds  revolution.  They  have  no  Indian  taste  for  a  toma 
hawk-dance,  no  French  taste  for  a  badge  or  a  proclamation. 


ABILITY.  201 

The  Englishman  is  peaceably  minding  his  business  and  earn 
ing  his  day's  wauvs.  I  Jut  it'  you  oiler  to  lay  hum!  on  his 
da\'>  wages,  on  Ins  row,  or  his  right  in  common,  or  his  shop, 
he  will  tight  to  the  Judgment.  Magna-charta,  jury-trial,  lt>i- 
•/•/"/>•.  star-chamber,  sliip-nn'iiey,  I'opery,  l'l\  iiimitli  colo 
ny.  American  Devolution,  are  all  (|iiestions  involving  a  y«O- 
man's  right  to  his  dinner,  and,  except  as  touching  that,  would 
not  liave  lashed  the1  British  nation  to  ra.ue  and  revolt. 

\Yhil.-t  they  aiv  thus  instinct  with  a  spirit  of  order,  and  of 
calculation,  it  must  he  owned  they  are  capable  of  larger  views  ; 
but  the  indulgence  is  expensive  to  them,  costs  great  . 
or  accumulations  of  mental  power.  In  common,  the  horse 
works  U-st  with  blinders.  Nothing  is  more  in  the  line  of 
English  thought,  than  our  unvarnished  Connecticut  ques 
tion,  "  Pray,  sir,  how  do  you  get  your  living  when  you  arc  at 
home  I"  The  questions  of  freedom,  of  taxation,  of  privilege, 
are  money  questions.  Heavy  fellows,  steeped  in  beer  and  llesh- 
pots,  they  are  hard  of  hearing  and  dim  of  sight.  Their 
dro\\<y  minds  need  to  be  ilagellated  by  war  and  trade  and 
politics  and  persecution.  They  cannot  well  read  a  principle, 
except  by  the  light  of  fagots  and  of  burning  towns. 

Tacitus  says  of  the  (Germans,  "powerful  only  in  sudden  ef 
forts,  they  are  impatient  of  toil  and  labor."  This  highly  des 
tined  race,  if  it  had  not  somewhere  added  the  chamber  of 
patience  to  its  brain,  would  not  have  built  London.  I  know 
not  from  which  of  the  tribes  and  temperaments  that  went  to 
the  composition  of  the  people  this  tenacity  was  supplied,  but 
they  clinch  every  nail  they  drive.  Thev  have  no  running  for 
luck,  and  no  immoderate  speed.  They  spend  largely  on  their 
fabric,  and  await  the  slow  return.  Their  leather  lies  tanning 
seven  years  in  the  vat.  At  h'oirers's  mills,  in  Sheffield,  where 
I  was  shown  the  process  of  making  a  razor  and  a  penknife.  I 
was  told  there  is  no  luck  in  making  good  steel;  that  tliev 
make  no  mistakes,  every  blade  in  the  hundred  and  in  the 
thousand  is  good.  And  that  is  characteristic  of  all  their  work, 
—  no  more  is  attempted  than  is  done. 

When  Thor  and  his  companions  arrive  at  Ttgard,  he  is  told 
that  M  nobody  is  permitted  to  remain  here,  unless  he  under 
stand  some  art,  and  excel  in  it  all  other  men."  The  same 
question  is  still  put  to  the  posterity  of  Thor.  A  nation  of 
laborers,  every  man  is  trained  to  some  one  art  or  d'-tail,  and 
aims  at  perfection  in  that  :  not  content  unless  he  has  some 
thing  in  which  be  thinks  he  surpasses  all  other  men.  He 
9» 


202  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

would  rather  not  do  anything  at  all,  than  not  do  it  well.  I 
suppose  no  people  have  such  thoroughness :  from  the  highest 
to  the  lowest,  every  man  meaning  to  be  master  of  his  art. 

"  To  show  capacity,"  a  Frenchman  described  as  the  end  of 
a  speech  in  debate  :  "  no,"  said  an  Englishman,  "  but  to  set 
your  shoulder  at  the  wheel,  —  to  advance  the  business."  Sir 
Samuel  Rom  illy  refused  to  speak  in  popular  assemblies,  con 
fining  himself  to  the  House  of  Commons,  where  a  measure 
can  be  carried  by  a  speech.  The  business  of  the  House  of 
Commons  is  conducted  by  a  few  persons,  but  these  are  hard- 
worked.  Sir  Robert  Peel  "  knew  the  Blue  Books  by  heart." 
His  colleagues  and  rivals  carry  Hansard  in  their  heads.  The 
high  civil  and  legal  offices  are  not  beds  of  ease,  but  posts 
which  exact  frightful  amounts  of  mental  labor.  Many  of  the 
great  leaders,  like  Pitt,  Canning,  Castlereagh,  Rornilly,  are 
soon  worked  to  death.  They  are  excellent  judges  in  England 
of  a  good  worker,  and  when  they  find  one,  like  Clarendon,  Sir 
Philip  Warwick,  Sir  William  Coventry,  Ashley,  Burke,  Thur- 
low,  Mansfield,  Pitt,  Eldon,  Peel,  or  Russell,  there  is  nothing 
too  good  or  too  high  for  him. 

They  have  a  wonderful  heat  in  the  pursuit  of  a  public  aim. 
Private  persons  exhibit,  in  scientific  and  antiquarian  researches, 
the  same  pertinacity  as  the  nation  showed  in  the  coalitions  in 
which  it  yoked  Europe  against  the  Empire  of  Bonaparte,  one 
after  the  other  defeated,  and  stiU  renewed,  until  the  sixth 
hurled  him  from  his  seat. 

Sir  John  Herschel,  in  completion  of  the  work  of  his  father, 
who  had  made  the  catalogue  of  the  stars  of  the  northern 
hemisphere,  expatriated  himself  for  years  at  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope,  finished  his  inventory  of  the  southern  heaven,  came 
home,  and  redacted  it  in  eight  years  more  ;  —  a  work  whose 
value  does  not  begin  until  thirty  years  have  elapsed,  and  thence 
forward  a  record  to  all  ages  of  the  highest  import.  The  Ad 
miralty  sent  out  the  Arctic  expeditions  year  after  year,  in 
search  of  Sir  John  Franklin,  until,  at  last,  they  have  threaded 
their  way  through  polar  pack  and  Behring's  Straits,  and  solved 
the  geographical  problem.  Lord  Elgin,  at  Athens,  saw  the 
imminent  ruin  of  the  Greek  remains,  set  up  his  scaffoldings, 
in  spite  of  epigrams,  and,  after  five  years'  labor  to  collect 
them,  got  his  marbles  on  shipboard.  The  ship  struck  a  rock, 
and  went  to  the  bottom.  He  had  them  all  fished  up,  by 
divers,  at  a  vast  expense,  and  brought  to  London  ;  not  know 
ing  that  Haydon,  Fuseli,  and  Canova,  and  all  good  heads  in 


ABILITY.  203 

all  the  world,  wore  to  be  his  applaudcrs.  In  the  same  spirit, 
were  the  excavation  and  research  by  Sir  Charles  1'Vllowrs,  for 
the  Xanthian  monument;  and  of  Layard,  lor  his  Nineveh 

•oulpturea 

The  nat  inn  sits  in  the  immense  city  they  have  budded,  a 
London  extended  into  every  man's  mind,  though  lie  live  in 
Van  I  Neman's  Land  or  Capetown.  Faithful  performance  of 
what  is  undertaken  to  be  performed,  they  honor  in  themselves, 
and  exact  in  others,  as  rerlilicale  of  equality  with  themselves. 
The  modern  world  is  theirs.  They  have  made  and  make  it 
day  by  day.  The  commercial  relations  of  the  world  are  so 
intimately  drawn  to  London,  that  every  dollar  on  earth  con 
tributes  to  the  strength  of  the  English  government.  And  if 
all  the  wealth  in  the  planet  should  perish  by  war  or  deluge, 
they  know  themselves  competent  to  replace  it. 

They  have  approved  their  Saxon  blood,  by  their  sea-going 
qualities  :  their  descent  from  Odin's  smiths,  by  their  hereditary 
skill  in  working  in  iron  ;  their  British  birth,  by  husbandry  and 
immense  \\heai  harvests;  and  justified  their  occupancy  of  the 
centre  of  habitable  land,  by  their  supreme  ability  and  cosmo 
politan  spirit.  They  have  tilled,  buildcd,  forged,  spun,  and 
woven.  They  have  made  the  island  a  thoroughfare  ;  and 
London  a  shop,  a  law-court,  a  record-office,  and  scientific 
bureau,  inviting  to  strangers  ;  a  sanctuary  to  refugees  of 
every  political  and  religious  opinion  ;  and  such  a  city,  that 
almost  every  active  man,  in  any  nation,  finds  himself,  at  one 
time  or  other,  forced  to  visit  it. 

In  every  path  of  practical  activity,  they  have  gone  even 
with  the  best.  There  is  no  secret  of  war,  in  which  they  have 
not  shown  mastery.  The  steam-chamber  of  Watt,  the  loco 
motive  of  Stephenson,  the  cotton-mule  of  Koberts,  perform 
the  labor  of  the  world.  There  is  no  department  of  literature, 
of  science,  or  of  useful  art,  in  which  they  have  not  produced 
a  first-rate  book.  It  is  England,  whose  opinion  is  waited  for 
on  the  merit  of  a  new  invention,  an  improved  science.  And 
in  the  complications  of  the  trade  and  politics  of  their  vast, 
empire,  they  have  been  equal  to  every  exigency,  with  counsel 
ami  with  conduct.  Is  it  their  luck,  or  is  it  in  the  chambers 
of  their  brain,  —  it  is  their  commercial  advantage,  that  what 
ever  light  appears  in  better  method  or  happy  invention,  breaks 
out  in  their  race.  They  are  a  family  to  which  a  destiny  at 
taches,  and  the  P,aii-h''r  has  sworn  that,  a  male  heir  shall 
never  be  wanting.  They  have  a  wealth  of  men  to  fill  im- 


204  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

portant  posts,  and  the  vigilance  of  party  criticism  insures  the 
selection  of  a  competent  person. 

A  proof  of  the  energy  of  the  British  people  is  the  highly 
artificial  construction  of  the  whole  fabric.  The  climate  and 
geography,  I  said,  were  factitious,  as  if  the  hands  of  man  had 
arranged  the  conditions.  The  same  character  pervades  the 
whole  kingdom.  Bacon  said,  "  Rome  was  a  state  not  subject 
to  paradoxes " ;  but  England  subsists  by  antagonisms  and 
contradictions.  The  foundations  of  its  greatness  are  the  roll 
ing  waves  ;  and,  from  first  to  last,  it  is  a  museum  of  anom 
alies.  This  foggy  and  rainy  country  furnishes  the  world  with 
astronomical  observations.  Its  short  rivers  do  not  afford 
water-power,  but  the  land  shakes  under  the  thunder  of  the 
mills.  There  is  no  gold-mine  of  any  importance,  but  there  is 
more  gold  in  England  than  in  all  other  countries.  It  is  too 
far  north  for  the  culture  of  the  vine,  but  the  wines  of  all 
countries  are  in  its  docks.  The  French  Comte  de  Lauraguais 
said,  "  no  fruit  ripens  in  England  but  a  baked  apple  "  ;  but 
oranges  and  pine-apples  are  as  cheap  in  London  as  in  the 
Mediterranean.  The  Mark-Lane  Express,  or  the  Custom- 
House  Returns  bear  out  to  the  letter  the  vaunt  of  Pope,  — 

"  Let  India  boast  her  palms,  nor  envy  ATC 
The  weeping  amber,  nor  the  spicy  tree, 
While,  by  our  oaks,  those  precious  loads  are  borne, 
And  realms  commanded  v.'hich  those  trees  adorn." 

The  native  cattle  are  extinct,  but  the  island  is  full  of  arti 
ficial  breeds.  The  agriculturist  Bakewell  created  sheep  and 
cows  and  horses  to  order,  and  breeds  in  which  everything  was 
omitted  but  what  is  economical.  The  cow  is  sacrificed  to  her 
bag,  the  ox  to  his  surloin.  Stall-feeding  makes  sperm-mills  of 
the  cattle,  and  converts  the  stable  to  a  chemical  factory.  The 
rivers,  lakes,  and  ponds,  too  much  fished,  or  obstructed  by 
factories,  are  artificially  filled  with  the  eggs  of  salmon,  turbot, 
and  herring. 

Chat  Moss  and  the  fens  of  Lincolnshire  and  Cambridgeshire 
are  unhealthy  and  too  barren  to  pay  rent.  By  cylindrical  tiles, 
and  gutta-percha  tubes,  five  millions  of  acres  of  bad  land  have 
been  drained  and  put  on  equality  with  the  best,  for  rape-cul 
ture  and  grass.  The  climate  too,  which  was  already  believed 
to  have  become  milder  and  drier  by  the  enormous  consumption 
of  coal,  is  so  far  reached  by  this  new  action,  that  fogs  and 
storms  are  said  to  disappear.  In  due  course,  all  England  will 


ABILITY.  205 

be  drained,  and  rise  a  second  time  out  of  the  waters.  The 
latent  step  was  to  call  in  the  aid  of  steam  to  Agriculture. 
Steam  is  almost  an  Englishman.  1  do  not  know  but  they  will 
send  him  to  Parliament,  next,  to  make  laws.  He  -\v« 
for^vx.  sawfl,  pounds,  fans,  and  now  he  must  pump.  grind,  dig, 
and  plough  for  the  farmer.  The  markets  created  by  the 
manufacturing  population  have  erected  agriculture  into  a  great 
thriving  and  spending  industry.  The  value  of  the  houses  in 
Britain  is  ei|ual  to  the  value  of  the  soil.  Artificial  aids  of  all 
kinds  are  cheaper  than  the  natural  resources.  No  man  can 
afford  to  walk,  when  the  parliamentary  train  carries  him  for 
a  penny  a  mile.  (las-burners  an-  cheaper  than  daylight  ill 
numberless  floors  in  the  cities.  All  the  houses  in  London  buy 
their  water.  The  English  trade  does  not  exist  for  the  exporta 
tion  of  native  products,  but  on  its  manufactures,  or  the  making 
well  everything  which  is  ill  made  elsewhere.  They  make 
ponchos  for  the  Mexican,  bandannas  for  the  Hindoo,  ginseng 
for  the  Chinese,  beads  for  the  Indian,  laces  for  the  Flemings, 
telescopes  for  astronomers,  cannons  for  kings. 

The  Board  of  Trade  caused  the  best  models  of  Greece  and 
Italy  to  be  placed  within  the  reach  of  every  manufacturing 
population.  They  caused  to  be  translated  from  foreign  lan 
guages  and  illustrated  by  elaborate  drawings,  the  most  approved 
works  of  Munich,  Berlin,  and  Paris.  They  have  ransacked 
Italy  to  find  new  forms,  to  add  a  grace  to  the  products  of  their 
looms,  their  potteries,  and  their  foundries.* 

The  nearer  we  look,  the  more  artificial  is  their  social  syst.  in. 
Their  law  is  a  network  of  fictions.  Their  property,  a  unrip  or 
certificate  of  right  to  interest  on  money  that  no  man  ever  saw. 
Their  social  classes  are  made  by  statute.  Their  ratios  of  power 
and  representation  are  historical  and  legal.  The  last  reform- 
bill  took,  awav  political  power  from  a  mound,  a  ruin,  and  a 
stone-wall,  whilst  Birmingham  and  Manchester,  whose  mills 
paid  for  the  wars  of  Europe,  had  no  representative.  Purity 
in  the  elective  Parliament  is  secured  by  the  purchase  of  seat-.t 
F<>rei'_rn  power  is  kept  by  armed  colonies  :  power  at  home,  by 
a  standing  army  of  police.  The  pauper  lives  better  than  the 
free  laborer  ;  the  thief  better  than  the  pauper  :  and  the  tran 
sported  felon  better  than  the  one  under  imprisonment  The 
crimes  are  factitious,  as  smugirling,  poaching,  non-conformity, 


M»>mori!il  of  H.  Groonoiidi.  p.  f,rt,  \,-\v  York,  1853. 

t  Sir  S.  Homilly,  pnre«t  of  Kn<:li-h  patriots  <k'H<l<-<l  that  tho  only  imlrH'ii- 
dpnt  mode  of  entering  Parliament  was  to  buy  a  seat,  and  he  boughUHor- 
tham. 


206  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

heresy,  and  treason.  Better,  they  say  in  England,  kill  a  man 
than  a  hare.  The  sovereignty  of  the  seas  is  maintained  by  the 
imprgssment  of  seamen.  "  The  impressment  of  seamen,"  said 
Lord  Elclon,  "  is  the  life  of  our  navy."  Solvency  is  maintained 
by  means  of  a  national  debt,  on  the  principle,  "  if  you  will  not 
lend  me  the  money,  how  can  I  pay  you  1 "  For  the  adminis 
tration  of  justice,  Sir  Samuel  Romilly's  expedient  for  clearing 
the  arrears  of  business  in  Chancery,  was,  the  Chancellor's  stay 
ing  away  entirely  from  his  court.  Their  system  of  education 
is  factitious.  The  Universities  galvanize  dead  languages  into 
a  semblance  of  life.  Their  church  is  artificial.  The  manners 
••  and  customs  of  society  are  artificial ;  —  made-up  men  with 
made-up  mariners  ;  —  and  thus  the  whole  is  Birminghamized, 
land  we  have  a  nation  whose  existence  is  a  work  of  art  ;  —  a 
cold,  barren,  almost  arctic  isle,  being  made  the  most  fruitful, 
luxurious,  and  imperial  land  in  the  whole  earth. 

Man  in  England  submits  to  be  a  product  of  political  economy. 
On  a  bleak  moor,  a  mill  is  built,  a  banking-house  is  opened, 
and  men  come  in,  as  water  in  a  sluice-way,  and  towns  and  cities 
rise.  Man  is  made  as  a  Birmingham  button.  The  rapid 
doubling  of  the  population  dates  from  Watt's  steam-engine. 
A  landlord,  who  owns  a  province,  says,  "  the  tenantry  are 
unprofitable  ;  let  me  have  sheep."  Hejiiiropjfe  tli^hojuscs,-and 
ships  the  population  to  America.  The  nation  is  accustomed 
to  t"Ko  Instantaneous  creation  of  wealth.  It  is  the  maxim  of 
their  economists,  "  that  the  greater  part  in  value  of  the  wealth 
now  existing  in  England,  has  been  produced  by  human  hands 
within  the  last  twelve  months."  Meantime,  three  or  four  days' 
rain  will  reduce  hundreds  to  starving  in  London. 

One  secret  of  their  power  is  their  mutual  good  understand 
ing.  Not  only  good  minds  are  born  among  them,  but  all  the 
people  have  good  minds.  Every  nation  has  yielded  some  good 
wit,  if,  as  has  chanced  to  many  tribes,  only  one.  But  the  intel 
lectual  organization  of  the  English  admits  a  communicableness 
of  knowledge  and  ideas  among  them  all.  An  electric  touch 
by  any  of  their  national  ideas,  melts  them  into  one  family,  and 
brings  the  hoards  of  power  which  their  individuality  is  always 
hiving,  into  use  and  play  for  all.  Is  it  the  smallness  of  the 
country,  or  is  it  the  pride  and  affection  of  race,  —  they  have 
solidarity,  or  responsibleness,  and  trust  in  each  other. 

Their  minds,  like  wool,  admit  of  a  dye  which  is  more  lasting 
than  the  cloth.  They  embrace  their  cause  with  more  tenacity 
than  their  life.  Though  not  military,  yet  every  common  sub- 


ABILITY.  207 

jcct  by  the  poll  is  fit  to  make  a  soldier  of.  These  private 
reserved  niuU'  family-men  can  adopt  :i  public  end  with  nil  their 
heat,  and  tliis  strength  of  altcction  makes  t  lie  romance  of  t  heir 
heroes.  The  difference  of  rank  does  not  divide  the  national 
heart.  The  Danish  poet  Oehlcnschliigcr  complains,  that  who 
writes  in  Danish  writes  to  two  hundred  readers.  In  ( Jcrmany, 
there  is  one  speech  tor  the  learned,  and  another  for  the  masses, 
to  that  extent,  that,  it  is  said,  no  sentiment  or  phrase  from  the 
works  uf  any  great  German  writer  is  ever  heard  among  the 
lower  classes.  But  in  England,  the  language  of  the  noble  is 
the  language  of  the  poor.  In  Parliament,  in  pulpits,  in  thea 
tres.  \\hen  the  sj  leakers  rise  to  thought  and  passion,  the  language 
becomes  idiomatic  ;  the  people  in  the  street  best  understand  the 
\vords.  And  their  language  seems  drawn  from  the  Bible, 
the  common  law,  and  the  works  of  Shakespeare,  Bacon,  Milton, 
Pope,  Young,  Cowper,  Burns,  and  Scott.  The  island  has  pro 
duced  two  or  three  of  the  greatest  men  that  ever  existed,  but 
they  were  not  solitary  in  their  own  time.  Men  quickly  em 
bodied  what  Newton  found  out,  in  Greenwich  observatories, 
and  practical  navigation.  The  boys  knew  all  that  lluin.u 
knew  of  strata,  or  Dalton  of  atoms,  or  Harvey  of  blood-vessels  ; 
and  these  studies,  oiice  dangerous,  are  in  fashion.  So  what  is 
in  vent  (•(!  or  known  in  agriculture,  or  in  trade,  or  in  war,  or  in 
art,  or  in  literature,  and  antiquities.  A  great  ability,  not 
amas>ed  on  a  few  giants,  but  poured  into  the  general  mind,  so 
that  each  of  them  could  at  a  pinch  stand  in  the  shoes  of  the 
other  :  and  they  are  more  bound  in  character  than  differenced 
in  ability  or  in  rank.  The  laborer  is  a  possible  lord.  The  lord 
is  a  possible  basket-maker.  Every  man  carries  the  English 
system  in  his  brain,  knows  what  is  confided  to  him,  and  does 
therein  the  best  ho  can.  The  chancellor  carries  England  on 
his  mace,  the  midshipman  at  the  point  of  his  dirk,  the  smith 
on  his  hammer,  the  cook  in  the  bowl  of  his  spoon  ;  the  postilion 
cracks  his  whip  for  England,  and  the  sailor  times  his  oars  to 
"God  save  the  King!"  The  very  felons  have  their  pride  in 
each  other's  English  standmess.  In  politics  and  in  war,  they 
hold  together  as  l.y  hooks  of  steel.  The  charm  in  Nelson's  his 
tory,  is,  the  unselfish  greatness  :  the  assurance  of  being  support- 
edtothe  uttermost  by  those  whom  he  supports  to  the  uttermost. 
Whilst  they  are  some  ages  ahead  of  the  rest  of  the  world  in 
the  art  of  living  :  whilst  in  some  directions  they  do  not  repre 
sent  the  modern  spirit,  but  constitute  it,  —  this  vanguard  of 
civility  and  power  they  coldly  hold,  marching  in  phalanx,  lock- 
step,  foot  after  foot,  file  after  file  of  heroes,  ten  thousand  deep. 


208  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

CHAPTER    VI. 

MANNERS. 

I  FIND  the  Englishman  to  bo  him  of  all  men  who  stands 
firmest  in  his  shoes.  They  have  in  themselves  what  they 
value  in  their  horses,  mettle  and  bottom.  On  the  day  of  my 
arrival  at  Liverpool,  a  gentleman,  in  describing  to  me  the  Lord 
Lieutenant  of  Ireland,  happened  to  say,  "  Lord  Clarendon  has 
pluck  like  a  cock,  and  will  fight  till  he  dies  "  ;  and,  what  I 
•  heard  first  I  heard  last,  and  the  one  thing  the  English  value,  is 
pluck.  The  word  is  not  beautiful,  but  on  the  quality  they  sig 
nify  by  it  the  nation  is  unanimous.  The  cabmen  have  it ;  the 
merchants  have  it  ;  the  bishops  have  it  ;  the  women  have  it  ; 
the  journals  have  it ;  the  Times  newspaper,  they  say,  is  the 
pluckiest  thing  in  England,  and  Sidney  Smith  had  made  it  a 
proverb,  that  little  Lord  John  Russell,  the  minister,  would  take 
the  command  of  the  Channel  fleet  to-morrow. 

They  require  you  to  dare  to  be  of  your  own  opinion,  and 
they  hate  the  practical  cowards  who  cannot  in  affairs  answer 
directly  yes  or  no.  They  dare  to  displease,  nay,  they  will  let 
you  break  all  the  commandments,  if  you  do  it  natively,  and 
with  spirit.  You  must  be  somebody  ;  then  you  may  do  this 
or  that,  as  you  will. 

Machinery  has  been  applied  to  all  work,  and  carried  to  such 
perfection,  that  little  is  left  for  the  men  but  to  mind  the 
engines  and  feed  the  furnaces.  But  the  machines  require 
punctual  service,  and  as  they  never  tire,  they  prove  too  much 
for  their  tenders.  Mines,  forges,  mills,  breweries,  railroads, 
steam-pump,  steam-plough,  drill  of  regiments,  drill  of  police, 
rule  of  court,  and  shop-rule,  have  operated  to  give  a  mechan 
ical  regularity  to  all  the  habit  and  action  of  men.  A  terrible 
machine  has  possessed  itself  of  the  ground,  the  air,  the  men 
and  women,  and  hardly  even  thought  is  free. 

The  mechanical  might  and  organization  require  in  the  peo 
ple  constitution  and  answering  spirits;  and  he  who  goes 
amon«-  them  must  have  some  weight  of  metal.  At  last,  yoi 
take  your  hint  from  the  fury  of  life  you  find,  and  say,  one 
thing  is  plain,  this  is  no  country  for  faint-hearted  people 
don't  creep  about  diffidently;  make  up  your  mind;  take 


MANNERS.  209 

•  your   own    course,  and  you    shall   find    respect    and  furtlier- 
•aoe. 

It  requires,  men  say.  a  LT"od  constitution  to  travel  in  Spain. 
I  say  as  nm.-h  «»t'  En-land,  fur  other  OttOSe,  simply  on  account 
of  the  vigor  and  brawn  of  the  people.  Nothing  hut  the 
•M-rious  husiness,  could  give  one  any  counterweight  to 
these  Haresarks,  though  thev  were  only  to  order  CL^S  and 
muffins  for  their  breakfast.  The  En.u;li.shman  speaks  with  all 
his  body.  His  elocution  is  stomachic, — as  the  American's 
is  lahial.  The  Englishman  is  very  petulant  and  precise 
about  his  accommodation  at  inns,  and  on  the  roads;  a  (pud 
dle  ahout  his  toast  and  his  chop,  and  every  species  of  conven 
ience,  and  loud  and  pungent  in  his  expressions  of  impatience 
at  any  neirlect.  His  vivacity  her  rays  itself,  at  all  points,  in 
his  manners,  in  his  respiration,  and  the  inarticulate  noises 
he  makes  in  clearing  the  throat,  -  -  all  significant  of  burly 
strength.  He  Lis  stamina:  lie  can  take  the  initiative  in 
emergencies.  He  has  that  a]>!<>nil>,  which  results  from  a  ^ood 
adjustment  of  the  moral  and  physical  nature,  and  the  obedi 
ence  of  all  the  powers  to  the  will  ;  as  if  the  axes  of  his  eyes 
were  united  to  his  backbone,  and  only  moved  with  the  trunk. 

This  vigor  -appears  in  the  incuriosity,  and  stony  neglect, 
each  of  every  other.  Each  man  walks,  eats,  drinks,  shaves, 
dresses,  gesticulates,  and,  in  every  manner,  acts,  and  suffer* 
without  reference  to  the  bystanders,  in  his  own  fashion,  only 
careful  not  to  interfere  with  them,  or  annoy  them  ;  not  that 
he  is  trained  to  neglect  the  eyes  of  his  neighbors, — he  is 
really  occupied  with  his  own  affair,  and  does  not  think  of 
them.  Every  man  in  this  polished  country  consults  only 
his  convenience,  as  much  as  a  solitary  pioneer  in  Wisconsin. 
1 1  know  not  where  any  personal  eccentricity  is  so  freely  al 
lowed,  and  no  man  gives  himself  any  concern  with  it.  An 
Englishman  walks  in  a  pouring  rain,  swinging  his  closed  um 
brella  like  a  walking-stick  ;  wears  a  wig,  or  a  shawl,  or  a  sad 
dle.  «r  stands  on  his  head,  and  no  remark  is  made.  And  as 
he  has  been  doing  this  for  several  generations,  it  is  now  in 
the  blood. 

In  short,  every  one  of  these  islanders  is  an  island  himself, 
safe,  tranquil,  incommunicable.  In  a  company  of  strangers, 
you  would  think  him  deaf;  his  eyes  never  wander  from  his 
table  and  newspaper.  He  is  never  betrayed  into  any  curios 
ity  or  unbecoming  emotion.  They  have  all  been  trained  in 
oiie  severe  school  of  manners,  and  never  put  off  the  harness, 

N 


210  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

He  does  not  give  his  hand.  He  does  not  let  you  meet  his 
eye.  It  is  almost  an  affront  to  look  a  man  in  the  face,  with 
out  being  introduced.  In  mixed  or  in  select  companies  they 
do  not  introduce  persons  ;  so  that  a  presentation  is  a  circum 
stance  as  valid  as  a  contract.  Introductions  are  sacraments. 
He  withholds  his  name.  At  the  hotel,  he  is  hardly  willing 
to  whisper  it  to  the  clerk  at  the  book-office.  If  he  give  you 
his  private  address  on  a  card,  it  is  like  an  avowal  of  friend 
ship  ;  and  his  bearing  on  being  introduced  is  cold,  even 
though  he  is  seeking  your  acquaintance,  and  is  studying  how 
he  shall  serve  you. 

It  was  an  odd  proof  of  this  impressive  energy,  that,  in  my 
lectures,  I  hesitated  to  read  and  threw  out  for  its  imperti 
nence  many  a  disparaging  phrase,  which  I  had  been  accus 
tomed  to  spin,  about  poor,  thin,  unable  mortals ;  so  much  had 
the  fine  physique  and  the  personal  vigor  of  this  robust  race 
worked  on  my  imagination. 

I  happened  to  arrive  in  England  at  the  moment  of  a  com 
mercial  crisis.  But  it  was  evident  that,  let  who  will  fail,  Eng 
land  will  not.  These  people  have  sat  here  a  thousand  years, 
and  here  will  continue  to  sit.  They  will  not  break  up,  or  ar 
rive  at  any  desperate  revolution,  like  their  neighbors  ;  for  they 
have  as  much  energy,  as  much  continence  of  character,  as  they 
ever  had.  The  power  and  possession  which  surround  them 
are  their  own  creation,  and  they  exert  the  same  command 
ing  industry  at  this  moment. 

They  are  positive,  methodical,  cleanly,  and  formal,  loving 
routine,  and  conventional  ways  ;  loving  truth  and  religion,  to 
be  sure,  but  inexorable  on  points  of  form.  All  the.  world 
praises  the  comfort  and  private  appointments  of  an  English 
inn,  and  of  English  households.  You  are  sure  of  neatness 
and  of  personal  decorum.  *A  Frenchman  may  possibly  be 
clean  :  an  Englishman  is  conscientiously  clean.  A  certain 
order  and  complete  propriety  is  found  in  his  dress  and  in  his 
belongings. 

Bom  in  a  harsh  and  wet  climate,  which  keeps  him  in  doors 
whenever  he  is  at  rest,  and  being  of  an  affectionate  and  loyal 
I  temper,  he  dearly  loves  his  house.  If  he  is  rich,  he  buys  a 
demesne,  and  builds  a  hall ;  if  he  is  in  middle  condition,  he 
spares  no  expense  on  his  house.  Without,  it  is  all  planted  ; 
within,  it  is  wainscoted,  carved,  curtained,  hung  with  pictures, 
and  filled  with  good  furniture.  'T  is  a  passion  which  survives 
all  others,  to  deck  and  improve  it.  Hither  he  brings  all  that 


MANNERS.  211 

is  rare  and  costly,  and  with  the  national  tendency  t<>  sit  \\\.>t 
in  tin-  Mime  spot.  for  many  generations,  it  comes  to  In-,  in  the 
course  of  tinu1,  ;i  mnsenni  of  heirlooms,  gifts,  and  trophies  of 
tiie  advent  ures  and  exploits  of  the  family.  He  is  very  fond 
of  silver  plate,  and,  though  he  have  no  gallery  of  portraits  of 
his  ancestors,  lie  has  of  their  punch-bowls  and  porringers.  In 
credible  amounts  of  plate  are  found  in  good  houses,  and  the 
pooivst  have  some  spoon  Or  saucepan,  gift  of  a  godmother, 
xived  out  of  bettor  times. 

An  English  family  consists  of  a  few  persons,  who,  from 
youth  to  age,  are  found  revolving  within  a  few  feet  of  each 
other,  as  if  tied  by  some  invisible  ligature,  tense  as  that  car 
tilage  which  we  have  seen  attaching  the  two  Siamese.  Eng 
land  produces  under  favorable  conditions  of  ease  and  culture 

l  the  finest  women  in  the  world.  And,  as  the  men  are  affection 
ate  and  true-hearted,  the  women  inspire  and  refine  them. 
Nothing  can  be  more  delicate  without  being  fantastical,  noth 
ing  more  firm  and  based  in  nature  and  sentiment,  than  the 
courtship  and  mutual  carriage  of  the  sexes.  The  song  of 
I.V.M;  savs.  "The  wife  of  every  Englishman  is  counted  blest/' 
The  sentiment  of  Imogen  in  Cymheline  is  copied  from  Eng 
lish  nature  :  and  not  less  the  Portia  of  Brutus,  the  Kate  Per 
cy,  and  the  1  >esdemona.  The  romance  does  not  exceed  the 
hei-ht  of  noble  passion  in  Mrs.  Lucy  Hutchinson,  or  in  Lady 
Ilussell,  or  even  as  one  discerns  through  the  plain  prose  of 
Pcpys's  Diary,  the  sacred  habit  of  an  English  wife.  Sir  Sam 
uel  Komilly  could  not  bear  the  death  of  his  wife.  Every  class 
has  ite  noble  ami  tender  examples. 

Domesticity  is  the  taproot  which  enables  the  nation  to 
branch  wide  and  -hiirh.  The  motive  and  end  of  their  trade 
and  empire  is  to  guard  the  independence  and  privacy  of  their 

/  homes.  Nothing  so  much  marks  their  manners  as  the  concen- 
tratioii  on  their  household  ties.  This  domesticity  is  carried 
into  court  and  camp.  Wellington  governed  India  and  Spain 
and  his  own  troops,  and  fought  battles  like  a  good  family- 
man,  paid  his  del  its,  and,  though  general  of  an  army  in  Spain, 
(ould  not  stir  abroad  for  fear  of  public  creditors.  This  ta>te 
for  house  and  parish  merits  has  of  course  its  doting  and 
foolish  side.  Mr.  Cobhett  attributes  the  huge  popularity  of 
val,  prime-  minister  in  1810,  to  the  fact  that  he  w'as 
wont  to  go  to  church  every  Sunday,  with  a  large  quarto  gilt 
prayer-book  under  one  arm,  his  wife  hanging  on  the  other, 
and  followed  by  a  long  brood  of  children. 


212  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

They  keep  their  old  customs,  costnmes,  and  pomps,  their 
wig  and  mace,  sceptre  and  crown.  The  Middle  Ages  still  lurk 
in  the  streets  of  London.  The  Knights  of  the  Bath  take  oath 
to  defend  injured  ladies ;  the  gold-stick-in-waiting  survives. 
They  repeated  the  ceremonies  of  the  eleventh  century  in  the 
coronation  of  the  present  Queen.  A  hereditary  tenure  is 
natural  to  them.  Offices,  farms,  trades,  and  traditions  descend 
so.  Their  leases  run  for  a  hundred  and  a  thousand  years. 
Terms  of  service  and  partnership  are  lifelong,  or  are  inherited. 
"  Holdship  has  been  with  me,"  said  Lord  Eldon,  "  eight-and- 
twenty  years,  knows  all  my  business  and  books."  Antiquity 
of  usage  is  sanction  enough.  Wordsworth  says  of  the  small 
freeholders  of  Westmoreland,  "  Many  of  these  humble  sons  of 
the  hills  had  a  consciousness  that  the  land  which  they  tilled 
had  for  more  than  five  hundred  years  been  possessed  by  men 
of  the  same  name  and  blood."  The  ship-carpenter  in  the  pub 
lic  yards,  my  lord's  gardener  and  porter,  have  been  there  .for 
more  than  a  hundred  years,  grandfather,  father,  and  son. 
nl  The  English  power  resides  also  in  their  dislike  of  change. 
They  have  difficulty  in  bringing  their  reason  to  act,  and  on  all 
occasions  use  their  memory  first.  As  soon  as  they  have  rid 
themselves  of  some  grievance,  and  settled  the  better  practice, 
they  make  haste  to  fix  it  as  a  finality,  and  never  wish  to  hear 
of  alteration  more. 

Every  Englishman  is  an  embryonic  chancellor :  his  instinct 
is  to  search  for  a  precedent.  The  favorite  phrase  of  their  law 
is,  "  &  custom  whereof  the  memory  of  man  runneth  not  back 
to  the  contrary."  The  barons  say,  "  Nolumus  mutari"  ;  and 
1  the  cockneys  stifle  the  curiosity  of  the  foreigner  on  the  reason 
•  of  any  practice,  with,  "  Lord,  sir,  it  was  always  so."  They 
hate  innovation.  Bacon  told  them,  Time  was  the  right  re 
former  ;  Chatham,  that  "  confidence  was  a  plant  of  slow 
growth  "  ;  Canning,  to  "  advance  with  the  times  "  ;  and  Wel 
lington,  that  "  habit  was  ten  times  nature."  All  their  states 
men  learn  the  irresistibility  of  the  tide  of  custom,  and  have 
invented  many  fine  phrases  to  cover  this  slowness  of  perception, 
and  prehensility  of  tail. 

A  sea-shell  should  be  the  crest  of  England,  not  only  because 
it  represents  a  power  built  on  the  waves,  but  also  the  hard 
finish  of  the  men.  The  Englishman  is  finished  like  a  cowry 
or  a  murex.  After  the  spire  and  the  spines  are  formed,  or, 
with  the  formation,  a  juice  exudes,  and  a  hard  enamel  varnishes 
every  part.  The  keeping  of  the  proprieties  is  as  indispensable 


MANNERS.  213 

as  clean  linen.  X<>  merit  quite  countervails  the  want  of  this, 
whilst  this  sometimes  stands  in  lieu  of  all.  "  T  is  in  had 
t.iMe,"  is  tin-  most  formidable  word  an  Knjlishman  fan  pro 
nounce.  But  this  japan  costs  them  dear.  There  is  a  prose  ill 
certain  Englishmen,  which  exceeds  in  wooden  deaduess  all 
rivalry  with  other  countrymen.  There  is  a  kncll~1irthe  con 
ceit  and  externality  of  their  voice,  which  seems  to  my,  Leave 
all  hnj.c  Ixltiml.  In  this  Cihraltur  of  pronriety,  mediocrity 
gets  intrenched,  and  consolidated,  and  fouimed  in  adamant. 
•  An  Knidishman  of  fashion  is  like  one  of  those  souvenirs,  bound 
in  gold  vellum,  enriched  with  delicate  engravings,  on  thick 
hot  pressed  paper,  tit  for  the  hands  of  ladies  and  princes,  but 
with  nothing  in  it  worth  reading  or  remembering. 

A  severe  decorum  rules  the  court  and  the  cottage.      AVhcn    / 
Thalhciv.  the  pianist,  was  one  evening  performing  before  the 
Queen,  at  Windsor,  in  a  private  party,  the  Oueeii  accompanied 
him  with  her  voiee.      The  circumstance  took  air,  and  all  Eng-/ 
land   shuddered   fr«»m  sea  to  sea.     The   indecorum  was  never 

I  repeated.  ( 'old.  repressive  manners  prevail.  No  enthusiasm/ 
is  permitted  except  at  the  opera.  They  avoid  everything 
marked.  They  require  a  tone  of  voice  that  excites  no  atten-j 
tion  in  the  room.  Sir  Philip  Sidney  is  one  of  the  patron 
saints  of  England,  of  whom  Wotton  said,  "  His  wit  was  the 
measure  of  congruity." 

Pretension  and  vaporing  are  once  for  all  distasteful.  They 
keep  to  the  other  extreme  of  low  tone  in  dress  and  manners. 
They  avoid  pretension  and  go  right  to  the  heart  of  the  thing. 
They  hate  nonsense,  sentimentalism,  and  highfiown  expression  ; 
(they  use  a  studied  plainness.  Even  Brummell  their  fop  was 
marked  by  the  severest  simplicity  in  dress.  They  value  them 
selves  on  the  absence  of  everything  theatrical  in  the  public 
business,  and  on  conciseness  and  going  to  the  point,  in  private 
alfairs. 

In  an  aristocrat ical  country,  like  England,  not  the  Trial  by 
Jury,  but  the  dinner  is  the  capital  institution.  It  is  the  mode 
of  doing  honor  to  a  stranger,  to  invite  him  to  eat,  —  and  has 
been  for  many  hundred  years.  "And  they  think,"  says  the 
Venetian  traveller  of  1500,  "no  greater  honor  can  be  conferred 
or  received,  than  to  invite  others  to  eat  with  them,  or  to  be 
invited  themselves,  and  they  would  sooner  give  five  or  six 
ducats  to  provide  an  entertainment  for  a  person,  than,  a  groat 
to  assist  him  in  any  distress."  *  It  is  reserved  to  the  end 

*  "  Relation  of  England."     Printed  by  the  Camden  Society. 


214  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

of  the  day,  the  family-hour  being  generally  six,  in  London, 
and,  if  any  company  is  expected,  one  or  two  hours  later. 
Every  one  dresses  for  dinner,  in  his  own  house,  or  in  another 
man's.  The  guests  are  expected  to  arrive  within  half  an  hour 
of  the  time  fixed  by  card  of  invitation,  and  nothing  but  death 
or  mutilation  is  permitted  to  detain  them.  The  English 
dinner  is  precisely  the  model  on  which  our  own  are  constructed 
in  the  Atlantic  cities.  The  company  sit  one  or  two  hours, 
before  the  ladies  leave  the  table.  The  gentlemen  remain  over 
their  wine  an  hour  longer,  and  rejoin  the  ladies  in  the  draw 
ing-room,  and  take  coffee.  The  dress-darner  generates  a  talent 
of  table-talk,  which  reaches  great  perfection  :  the  stories  are  so 
good,  that  one  is  sure  they  must  have  been  often  told  before, 
to  have  got  such  happy  turns.  Hither  come  all  manner  of 
clever  projects,  bits  of  popular  science,  of  practical  invention, 
of  miscellaneous  humor  ;  political,  literary,  and  personal  news  ; 
railroads,  horses,  diamonds,  agriculture,  horticulture,  piscicul 
ture,  and  wine. 

English  stories,  bon-mots,  and  the  recorded  table-talk  of  their 
wits,  are  as  good  as  the  best  of  the  Erench.  In  America,  we 
,are  apt  scholars,  but  have  not  yet  attained  the  same  perfection  : 
for  the  range  of  nations  from  which  London  draws,  and  the 
steep  contrasts  of  condition  create  the  picturesque  in  society, 
as  broken  country  makes  picturesque  landscape,  whilst  our 
prevailing  equality  makes  a  prairie  lameness  :  and  secondly, 
because  the  usage  of  a  dress-dinner  every  day  at  dark  has  a 
tendency  to  hive  and  produce  to  advantage  everything  good. 
Much  attrition  has  worn  every  sentence  into  a  bullet.  Also 
one  meets  now  and  then  with  polished  men,  wrho  know  every 
thing,  have  tried  everything,  can  do  everything,  and  are 
quite  superior  to  letters  and  science.  What  could  they  not, 
if  only  they  would  1 


TRUTH.  215 

CHAPTER  VII. 

TRUTH. 

E  Teutonic  tribes  have  a  national  singleness  of  heart, 
L  which  contrasts  with  the  Latin  races.  The  (Jerman 
name  lias  a  proverbial  significance  of  sincerity  and  honest 
meanin<_r.  The  arts  hear  testimony  to  it.  The  faces  of  elcr-y 
aii'l  laity  in  old  sculptures  and  illuminated  missals  are  charged 
with  earnest  belief.  Add  to  this  hereditary  rectitude,  the 
punctuality  and  precise  dealing  which  commerce  creates,  and 
you  have  the  Kimlish  truth  and  credit.  The  government 
strictly  performs  its  ciiga-jfemrnts.  The  subjects  do  not  mult -r- 
stand  trifling  on  its  part.  When  any  breach  of  promise  oc 
curred,  in  the  old  days  of  prerogative,  it  was  resented  by  the 
people  as  an  intolerable  grievance.  And,  in  modern  times,  any 
slipprriness  in  tin-  government  in  political  faith,  or  any  repu 
diation  or  crookedness  in  matters  of  finance,  would  bring  the 
whole  nation  to  a  committee  of  inquiry  and  reform.  Private 
men  keep  their  promises,  never  so  trivial.  Down  goes  the  fly 
ing  word  on  the  tabl,-ts.  and  is  indelible  as  Domesday  Book. 

Th.-ir  practical  power  rests  on  their  national  sincerity.  Ve 
racity  derives  from  instinct,  and  marks  superiority  in  organiza 
tion.  Nature  has  endowed  some  animals  with  cunning,  as  a 
•join pensation  for  strength  withheld  ;  but  it  has  provoked  the 
malice  of  all  others,  as  if  avengers  of  public  wronir.  In  the 
nobler  kinds,  where  strength  could  be  afforded,  her  races  are 
loyal  to  truth,  as  truth  is  the  foundation  of  the  social  state. 
-  that  make  no  truce  with  man,  do  not  break  faith  with 
each  other.  T  is  said,  that  the  wolf,  who  makes  a  rnchp  of  his 
prey,  and  brings  his  fellows  with  him  to  the  spot,  if,  on  dig 
ging  it  is  not  found,  is  instantly  and  unresistingly  torn  in  pieces. 
Knglish  veracity  seems  to  result  on  a  sounder  animal  structure, 
as  if  they  could  afford  it.  They  are  blunt  in  saying  what  they 
think,  sparing  of  promises,  and  they  require  plain  dealing  of 
others.  We  will  not  have  To  do  with  a  man  in  a  mask.  Let 
us  know  the  truth.  Draw  a  straight  line,  hit  whom  and  where 
it  will.  Alfred,  whom  the  affection  of  the  nation  makes  the 
type  of  their  race,  is  called  by  a  writer  at  the  Xorman  Con 
quest,  the  truth-speaker;  Alutredas  veridicus.  Geoffrey  of 


ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

Monmouth  says  of  King  Aurelius,  uncle  of  Arthur,  that  "  above 
all  things  he  hated  a  lie."  The  Northman  Guttorm  said  to 
King  Olaf,  "  It  is  royal  work  to  fulfil  royal  words."  The  mot 
toes  of  their  families  are  monitory  proverbs,  as,  Fare  fac,  — 
Say,  do,  —  of  the  Fairfaxes ;  Say  and  seal,  of  the  house  of 
Fiennes  ;  Vero  nil  verius,  of  the  De  Veres.  To  be  king  of  their 
word,  is  their  pride.  When  they  unmask  cant,  they  say,  "  The 
English  of  this  is,"  &c.  ;  and  to  give  the  lie  is  the  extreme  in 
sult.  The  phrase  of  the  lowest  of  the  people  is  "  honor-bright," 
and  their  vulgar  praise,  "  his  word  is  as  good  as  his  bond." 
They  hate  shuffling  and  equivocation,  and  the  cause  is  damaged 
in  the  public  opinion,  011  which  any  paltering  can  be  fixed. 
Even  Lord  Chesterfield,  with  his  French  breeding,  when  he 
came  to  define  a  gentleman,  declared  that  truth  made  his 
distinction  ;  and  nothing  ever  spoken  by  him  would  find  so 
hearty  a  suffrage  from  his  nation.  The  Duke  of  Wellington, 
who  had  the  best  right  to  say  so,  advises  the  French  General 
Kellermann,  that  he  may  rely  on  the  parole  of  an  English  offi 
cer.  The  English,  of  all  classes,  value  themselves  on  this  trait, 
as  distinguishing  them  from  the  French,  who,  in  the  popular 
belief,  arc  more  polite  than  true.  An  Englishman  understates, 
avoids  the  superlative,  checks  himself  in  compliments,  alleging, 
that  in  the  French  language,  one  cannot  speak  without  lying. 

They  love  reality  in  wealth,  power,  hospitality,  and  do  not 
easily  learn  to  make  a  show,  and  take  the  world  as  it  goes. 
They  are  not  fond  of  ornaments,  and  if  they  wear  them,  they 
must  be  gems.  They  read  gladly  in  old  Fuller,  that  a  lady,  in 
the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  "  would  have  as  patiently  digested  a  lie, 
as  the  wearing  of  false  stones  or  pendants  of  counterfeit  pearl.'' 
They  have  the  earth-hunger,  or  preference  for  property  in  land, 
which  is  said  to  mark  the  Teutonic  nations.  They  build  of 
stone  ;  public  and  private  buildings  are  massive  and  durable. 
In  comparing  their  ships'  houses,  and  public  offices  with  the 
American,  it  is  commonly  said,  that  they  spend  a  pound,  where 
we  spend  a  dollar.  Plain  rich  clothes,  plain  rich  equipage, 
plain  rich  finish  throughout  their  house  and  belongings,  mark 
the  English  truth. 

They  confide  in  each  other,  —  English  believes  in  English. 
The  French  feel  the  superiority  of  this  probity.  The  English 
man  is  not  springing  a  trap  for  his  admiration,  but  is  honestly 
minding  his  business.  The  Frenchman  is  vain.  Madame 
de  Stael  says,  that  the  English  irritated  Napoleon,  mainly,^  be 
cause  they  "have  found  out  how  to  unite  success  with  hone*sty. 


TRUTH.  217 

She  was  not  aware  how  wide  an  application  her  foreign  readers 
would  give  to  the  remark.  Wellington  discovered  the  ruin  of 
Bonaparte's  all'airs.  by  liis  own  probity.  He  augured  ill  of  the 
empire,  as  soon  as  he  saw  that  it  was  mendacious,  and  lived  by 
war.  11' war  do  not  bring  in  its  sequel  new  trade,  better  agri- 
eulture  and  manufaet  ures,  hut  only  games,  lireworks.  and  spec- 
taclrs,  -- -  no  prosperity  could  support  it  ;  ni'ich  less,  a  nation 
decimated  for  conscripts,  and  out  of  pocket,  like  France.  So 
ho  drudged  for  years  on  his  military  works  at  Lisbon,  and  from 
this  base  at  last  extruded  his  gigantic  lines  to  Waterloo,  be 
lieving  in  his  countrymen  and  their  syllogisms  above  all  the 
rhodomontade  of  Europe. 

At  a  St.  George's  festival,  in  Montreal,  where  I  happened  to 
be  a  guest,  since  my  return  home,  1  observed  that  the  chair 
man  complimented  his  compatriots,  by  saying,  "they  confided 
that  wherever  they  met  an  Fniilishman,  they  found  a  man 
who  would  speak  the  truth."  And  one  cannot  think  this 
festival  fruitless,  if,  all  over  the  world,  on  the  23d  of  April, 
wherever  two  or  three  English  are  found,  they  meet  to  en 
courage  each  other  in  the  nationality  of  veracity. 

In  the  power  of  saying  rude  truth,  sometimes  in  the  lion's 
month,  no  men  surpass  them.  On  the  king's  birthday,  when 
each  bishop  was  expected  to  ofl'er  the  king  a  purse  of  gold, 
Latimer  gave  Henry  VIII.  a  copy  of  the  Vulgate,  with  a  mark 
at  the  pas^aire,  '"  Whoremongers  and  adulterers  God  will 
judge  "  ;  and  they  so  honor  stoutness  in  each  other,  that  the 
king  passed  it  over.  They  an-  tenacious  of  their  belief,  and  \ 
cannot  easily  change  their  opinions  to  suit  the  hour.  They  ' 
are  like  ships  with  too  much  head  on  1<>  come  quickly  about, 
nor  will  prosperity  or  even  adversity  be  allowed  to  shake  their 
habitual  view  of  conduct.  Whilst  I  was  in  London,  M.  Guizot 
arrived  there  on  his  escape  from  Paris,  in  February,  IMS. 
Many  private  friends  called  on  him.  His  name  was  immediately 
proposed  as  an  honorary  member  to  the  Athemcum.  M.  Gui/ot 
was  blackballed.  ( Vrtainly,  they  knew  the  distinction  of  his 
name.  Hut  the  Englishman  is  not  tickle.  He  had  really 
made  up  his  mind,  now  for  years  as  he  read  his  newspaper,  to 
hate  and  despise  M.  Gui/ot  :  and  the  altered  position  of  the 
man  as  an  Qhistrioilfl  exile,  and  a  Li'uest  in  the  country,  makes 
no  difference  to  him.  as  it  would  instantly,  to  an  American. 

They  require  the  same  adherence,  thorough  conviction  and 
reality  in  public  men.  It  is  the  want  of  character  which 
makes  the  low  reputation  of  the  Irish  members.  "  See 

TOL.    II.  10 


218  ENGLISH  TKAITS. 

them,"  they  said,  "  one  hundred  and  twenty-seven  all  voting 
like  sheep,  never  proposing  anything,  and  all  but  four  voting 
the  income  tax,"-— which  was  an  ill-judged  concession  of  the 
government,  relieving  Irish  property  from  the  burdens  charged 
on  English. 

,  They  have  a  horror  of  adventurers  in  or  out  of  Parliament. 
The  ruling  passion  of  Englishmen,  in  these  days,  is  a  terror 
of  humbug.  In  the  same  proportion,  they  value  honesty, 
stoutness,  and  adherence  to  your  own.  They  like  a  man  com 
mitted  to  his  objects.  They  hate  the  French,  as  frivolous ; 
they  hate  the  Irish,  as  aimless ;  they  hate  the  Germans,  as 
professors.  In  February,  1848,  they  said,  Look,  the  French 
king  and  his  party  fell  for  want  of  a  shot ;  they  had  not  con 
science  to  shoot,  so  entirely  was  the  pith  and  heart  of  monarchy 
eaten  out. 

They  attack  their  own  politicians  every  day,  on  the  same 
grounds,  as  adventurers.  They  love  stoutness  in  standing  for 
your  right,  in  declining  money  or  promotion  that  costs  any 
concession.  The  barrister  refuses  the  silk  gown  of  Queen's 
Counsel,  if  his  junior  have  it  one  day  earlier.  Lord  Colling- 
wood  would  not  accept  his  medal  for  victory  on  14th  February, 
1797,  if  he  did  not  receive  one  for  victory  on  1st  June,  1794  ; 
and  the  long-withholden  medal  was  accorded.  When  Cas- 
tlereagh  dissuaded  Lord  Wellington  from  going  to  the  king's 
levee,  until  the  unpopular  Cintra  business  had  been  explained, 
he  replied  :  "  You  furnish  me  a  reason  for  going.  I  will  go  to 
this,  or  I  will  never  go  to  a  king's  levee."  The  radical  mob  at 
Oxford  cried  after  the  tory  Lord  Eldon,  "  There  's  old  Eldon  ; 
cheer  him  ;  he  never  ratted."  They  have  given  the  parlia 
mentary  nickname  of  Trimmers  to  the  time-servers,  whom  Eng 
lish  character  does  not  love.* 

They  are  very  liable  in  their  politics  to  extraordinary  de 
lusions,  thus,  to  believe  what  stands  recorded  in  the  gravest 
books,  that  the  movement  of  10  April,  1848,  was  urged  or  as 
sisted  by  foreigners  :  which,  to  be  sure,  is  paralleled  by  the 
democratic  whimsy  in  this  country,  which  I  have  noticed  to 
be  shared  by  men  sane  on  other  points,  that  the  English  are 

*  It  is  an  unlucky  moment  to  remember  these  sparkles  of  solitary  virtue  in 
the  face  of  the  honors  lately  paid  in  England  to  the  Emperor  Louis' Napoleon. 
I  am  sure  that  no  Englishman  whom  I  had  the  happiness  to  know,  consented, 
when  the  aristocracy  and  the  commons  of  London  cringed  like  a  Neapolitan 
rabble,  before  a  successful  thief.  But  —  how  to  resist  one  step,  though  odious, 
in  a  linked  series  of  state  necessities '?  —  Governments  must  always  learn  too 
late,  that  the  use  of  dishonest  agents  is  as  runious  for  nations  as  for  single 
men. 


TRUTH.  219 

at  the  bottom  of  the  agitation  of  slavery,  in  American  polities  : 
and  then  uiram  to  the  French  popular  legends  on  the  subject 
of  j)erri'l<'t»*  AUti'Hi.  But  suspicion  will  make  fools  of  nations 
as  of  citizens. 

A  slow  temperament  makes  them  less  rapid  and  ready  than 
other  countrymen,  and  has  -'iven  occasion  to  the  observation 
that  English  wit oomes afterwards,  —  which  the  French  denote 
•It  <f'<.«-<ilnr.  This  dulness  makes  their  attachment  to 
home,  and  their  adherence  in  all  foreign  countries  to  home 
habits.  The  Englishman  who  visits  Mount  Etna  will  carry 
his  tea-kettle  to  the  top.  The  old  Italian  author  of  the  "Re 
lation  of  England  "  (in  1500)  says  :  "  I  have  it  on  the  best  in 
formation,  that,  when  the  war  is  actually  racing  most  furious- 
Iv,  tliev  will  seek  for  good  eating,  and  all  their  other  comforts, 
without  thinking  what  harm  might  befall  them."  Then  their 
-••cm  to  be  set  at  the  bottom  of  a  tunnel,  and  they  affirm 
the  one  small  fact  they  know,  with  the  best  faith  in  the  world 
that  nothing  else  exists.  And,  as  their  own  belief  in  guineas 
is  perfect,  they  readily,  on  all  occasions,  apply  the  pecuniary 
argument  as  final.  Thus  when  the  Rochester  rappings  be^an 
to  I.,-  heard  of  in  England,  a  man  deposited  £  100  in  a  sealed 
box  in  the  Dublin  Bank,  and  then  advertised  in  the  newspa 
pers  to  all  somnambulists,  mesmerizers,  and  others,  that  who 
ever  could  tell  him  the  number  of  his  note  should  have  the 
money.  He  let  it  lie  there  six  months,  the  newspapers  now  and 
then,  at  his  instance,  stimulating  the  attention  of  the  adepts; 
but  none  could  ever  tell  him  ;  and  he  said,  ''  Xow  let ;  me  never 
be  bothered  more  with  this  pi-oven  lie."  It  is  told  of  a  good 
Sir  John,  that  he  heard  a  ease  Mated  by  counsel,  and  made  up 
his  mind  ;  then  the  counsel  for  the  other  side  taking  their 
turn  to  speak,  he  found  himself  so  unsettled  and  perplexed, 
that  he  exclaimed,  "  So  help  me  God  !  I  will  never  listen  to 
evidence  again."  Any  number  of  delightful  examples  of  this 
English  stolidity  are  the  anecdotes  of  Europe.  I  knew  a  very 
worthy  man,  —  a  magistrate,  1  believe  he  was,  in  the  town  of 
Derby.  who  went  to  the  opera,  to  see  Malibran.  In  one 
scene,  the  heroine  was  to  ru^h  across  a  ruined  bridge.  Mr.  I>. 
.  and  mildly  yet  firmly  called  the  attention  of  the  audi- 
•iii'l  the  performers  to  the  fact  that,  in  his  judgment,  the 
bridge  was  unsafe;  This  English  M-.lidity  contracts  with 
Erench  wit  and  tact.  The  French,  it  is  commonly  said,  have 
gi'eatly  more  influence  in  Europe  than  the  English.  What  in 
fluence  the  English  have  is  by  brute  force  of  wealth  and  pow- 


220  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

or ;  that  of  the  French  by  affinity  and  talent.  The  Ital 
ian  is  subtle,  the  Spaniard  treacherons  :  tortures,  it  was  said, 
could  never  wrest  from  an  Egyptian  the  confession  of  a  secret. 
None  of  these  traits  belong  to  the  Englishman.  His  choler 
and  conceit  force  everything  out.  Defoe,  who  knew  his  coun 
trymen  well,  says  of  them  :  — 

"  In  close  intrigue,  their  faculty  's  but  weak, 
For  generally  whate'er  they  know,  they  speak, 
And  often  their  own  counsels  undermine 
By  mere  infirmity  without  design; 
From  whence,  the  learned  say,  it  doth  proceed, 
That  English  treasons  never  can  succeed; 
For  they  're  so  open-hearted,  you  may  know 
Their  own  most  secret  thoughts,  and'others'  too." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CHARACTER. 

r  I  ^HE  English  race  are  reputed  morose.  I  do  not  know  that 
they  have  sadder  brows  than  their  neighbors  of  northern 
climates.  They  are  sad  by  comparison  with  the  singing  and 
dancing  nations  :  not  sadder,  but  slow  and  staid,  as  finding 
their  joys  at  home.  They,  too,  believe  that  where  there  is  no 
enjoyment  of  life,  there  can  be  no  vigor  and  art  in  speech  or 
thought ;  that  your  merry  heart  goes  all  the  way,  your  sad  one 
tares  in  a  mile.  This  trait  of  gloom  has  been  fixed  on  them 
by  French  travellers,  who,  from  Froissart,  Voltaire,  Le  Sage, 
Mirabeau,  down  to  the  lively  journalists  of  the  fenilletons,  have 
spent  their  wit  on  the  solemnity  of  their  neighbors.  The 
French  say,  gay  conversation  is  unknown  in  their  island  :  the 
Englishman  finds  no  relief  from  reflection  except  in  reflection  : 
when  he  wishes  for  amusement,  he  goes  to  work  :  his  hilarity 
is  like  an  attack  of  fever.  Religion,  the  theatre,  and  the  read 
ing  the  books  of  his  country,  all  feed  and  increase  his  natural 
melancholy.  The  police  does  not  interfere  with  public  di 
versions.  "  It  thinks  itself  bound  in  duty  to  respect  the  pleas 
ures  and  rare  gayety  of  this  inconsolable  nation ;  and  their 
well-known  courage  is  entirely  attributable  to  their  disgust  of 
life. 

I  suppose  their  gravity  of  demeanor  and  their  few  words 
have  obtained  this  reputation.     As  compared  with  the  Ameri- 


CHARACTI1U.  L'-L 

cans,  I  tliink  them  cheerful  and  contented.  Young  people,  in 
this  country,  are  much  more  prone  to  melancholy.  The  Eng- 
lisli  have  ;i  mild  aspect,  and  a  ringing  ehee.  fill  voice.  They 
are  lar-e-natured,  and  not  so  easily  amused  as  the  southern 
ers,  and  are  ainon-  them  as  grown  people-  amon-  children,  re 
quiring  war,  or  trade,  or  engineering,  or  science,  instead  of 
frivolous  panics.  They  are  proud  and  private,  and,  even  if 
disposed  t"  recreation,  will  avoid  an  open  garden.  They 
sported  sadlv  ;  //x  ti'<iuins'ti<  nt  tri*ti-ntrnt,  ••<>/",/  (a  continue  de 
few  pay*,  said  Froissart  ;  and,  1  sup ju.se,  never  nation  l.uilt 
their  parry  walls  so  thick,  or  their  -an leu  fences  so  high, 
and  wine  produce  no  effect  on  them:  they  are  just  as 
cold,  quiet,  and  composed,  at  the  end,  as  at  the  beginning  of 
dinner. 

The  reputation  of  taciturnity  they  have  enjoyed  for  six  or 
.seven  hundred  years;  and  a  kind  of  pride  in  had  public 
speak  in-  is  noted  in  the  House  of  Commons,  as  if  they  were, 
willing  to  show  that  they  did  not  live  by  their  tongues,  or 
thought  they  spoke  well  enough  if  they  had  the  tone  of  gen 
tlemen.  In  mixed  company,  they  shut  their  mouths.  A 
Yorkshire  mill-owner  told  me,  he  had  ridden  more  than  once 
all  the  way  from  London  to  Leeds,  in  the  first-class  carriage, 
with  the  same  persons,  and  no  word  exchanged.  The  club- 
-  were  established  to  cultivate  social  habits,  and  it  is 
rare  that  more  than  two  eat  together,  and  oftenest  one  eats 
alone.  -Was  it  then  a  stroke  of  humor  in  the  serious  Sweclen- 
borg,  or  was  it  only  his  pitiless  logic,  that  made  him  shut  up 
the  English  souls  in  a  heaven  by  themselves1? 

They  are  contradictorily  described  as  sour,  splenetic,  and 
stubborn,  —  and  as  mild,  sweet,  and  sensible.  The  truth  is, 
they  have  great  ran-*1  and  variety  of  character.  Commerce, 
s-'iids  abroad  multitudes  of  different  classes.  The  choleric 
WeUhman.  the  fervid  Scot,  the  bilious  resident  in  the  East  or 
West  Indies,  fire  wide  of  the  perfect  behavior  of  the  educated 
and  dignified  man  of  family.  So  is  the  burly  farmer  ;  so  is 
the  country  'squiro,  with  his  narrow  and  violent  life.  In  every 
inn,  is  the  Commercial-Room,  in  which  'travellers,'  or  ba-meii 
who  carry  patterns,  and  solicit  orders,  for  the  manufacturers, 
are  wont  to  be  entertained.  It  easily  happens  that  this  class 
should  characteri/.e  En-land  to  the  forei-ner,  who  meets  them 
on  the  road,  and  at  every  public  house,  whilst  the  gentry  avoid 
the  taverns,  or  seclude  themselves  whilst  in  them. 

But  these   classes  are  the   right   English  stock,  and  may 


222  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

fairly  show  the  national  qualities,  before  yet  art  and  education 
have  dealt  with  them.  They  are  good  lovers,  good  haters, 
slow  but  obstinate  admirers,  and,  in  all  things,  very  much 
steeped  in  their  temperament,  like  men  hardly  awaked  from 
deep  sleep,  which  they  enjoy.  Their  habits  and  instincts 
cleave  to  nature.  They  are  of  the  earth,  earthy ;  and  of  the 
sea,  as  the  sea-kinds,  attached  to  it  for  what  it  yields  them, 
and  not  from  any  sentiment.  They  are  full  of  coarse  strength, 
rude  exercise,  butcher's  meat,  and  sound  sleep ;  and  suspect 
any  poetic  insinuation  or  any  hint  for  the  conduct  of  life 
which  reflects  on  this  animal  existence,  as  if  somebody  were 
fumbling  at  the  umbilical  cord  and  might  stop  their  supplies. 
They  doubt  a  man's  sound  judgment,  if  he  does  not  eat  with 
appetite,  and  shake  their  heads  if  he  is  particularly  chaste. 
Take  them  as  they  come,  you  shall  find  in  the  common  people 
a  surly  indifference,  sometimes  gruffness  and  ill  temper  ;  and, 
in  minds  of  more  power,  magazines  of  inexhaustible  war,  chal 
lenging 

"  The  ruggedest  hour  that  time  and  Ppito  dare  bring 
To  frown  upon  the  enraged  Northumberland," 

They  are  headstrong  believers  and  defenders  of  their  opinion, 
and  not  less  resolute  in  maintaining  their  whim  and  perversity. 
Hezekiah  Woodward  wrote  a  book  against  the  Lord's  Prayer. 
And  one  can  believe  that  Burton  the  Anatomist  of  Melancholy, 
having  predicted  from  the  stars  the  hour  of  his  death,  slipped 
the  knot  himself  round  his  own  neck,  not  to  falsify  his  horo 
scope. 

Their  looks  bespeak  an  invincible  stoutness  ;  they  have  e 
treme  difficulty  to  run  away,  and  will  die  game.  Wellington 
said  of  the  young  coxcombs  of  the  Life-Guards  delicately 
brought  up,  "  But  the  puppies  fight  well "  ;  and  Nelson  said 
of  his  sailors,  "  They  really  mind  shot  no  more  than  peas. 
Of  absolute  stoutness  no  nation  has  more  or  better  examples. 
They  are  good  at  storming  redoubts,  at  boarding  frigates,  at 
dying  in  the  last  ditch,  or  any  desperate  service  which  has  day 
light  and  honor  in  it ;  but  not,  I  think,  at  enduring  the  rack, 
or  any  passive  obedience,  like  jumping  off  a  castle-roof  at  the 
word  "of  a  czar.  Being  both  vascular  and  highly  organized,  so 
as  to  be  very  sensible  of  pain ;  and  intellectual,  so  as  to  see 
reason  and  glory  in  a  matter. 

Of  that  constitutional  force,  which  yields  the  supplies  of  the 
day,  they  have  the  more  than  enough,  the  excess  which  creates 
courage  on  fortitude,  genius  in  poetry,  invention  in  mechanics, 


CHARACT1K.  223 

enterprise  in  trade,  magnificence  in  wealth,  splendor  in  ccremo- 
:  et  ulance  ami  projects  in  youth.  Th0yoUBg  men  have  a 
nidi-  health  which  runs  into  peccant  humors.  They  drink 
brandy  like  water,  cannot  expend  their  quantities  of  waste 
strength  on  riding,  hunting,  swimming,  and  fencing,  and  run 
into  absurd  frolics  with  the  gravity  of  the  Einiieiiides.  They 
stoutlv  carry  into  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  earth  their 
turbu  :  leaving  no  lie  uncontradicted  ;  no  pretension 

unexaiiiined.  They  chew  hasheesh  ;  cut  themselves  with  poi 
soned  :  swinir  their  hammock  in  the  boughs  of  the 
Bohon  I  'pas  ;  taste  every  poison  ;  buy  every  secret  ;  at  Naples, 
they  put  St.  Januarius's  blood  in  an  alembic  ;  they  saw  a  hole 
into  tlie  head  of  the  "  winking  Virgin,''  to  know  why  she  winks  ; 
measure  with  an  English  foot-rule  every  cell  of  the  Inquisition, 
every  Turkish  eaal  a,  every  Holy  of  holies;  translate  and  send 
to  Hentley  the  arcanum  bribed  and  bullied  away  from  shudder 
ing  Bramins  ;  and  measure  their  own  strength  by  the  terror 
they  cause.  These  travellers  are  of  every  class,  the  best  and 
tin4  worst  :  and  it  may  easily  happen  that  those  of  rudest  be 
havior  an-  taken  notice  of  and  remembered.  The  Saxon  mel 
ancholy  in  the  vulgar  rich  and  poor  appears  as  gushes  of  ill- 
humor,  which  every  cheek  exasperates  into  sarcasm  and 
vituperation.  There  are  multitudes  of  rude  youn.Lr  English  who 
have  the  self-sufficiency  and  bluntness  of  their  nation,  and  who, 
with  their  disdain  of  the  rest  of  mankind,  and  with  this  indi 
gestion  and  choler.  have  made  the  Knglish  traveller  a  proverb 
for  uncomfortable  and  offensive  manners.  It  was  no  bad  de 
scription  of  the  Briton  generieally,  what  was  said  two  hundred 
ago,  of  one  particular  Oxford  scholar:  "  He  was  a  very 
bold  man,  uttered  anything  that  came  into  his  mind,  not  only 
among  his  companions,  but  in  public  coffee-houses,  and  would 
often  speak  his  mind  of  particular  persons  then  accidentally 
present,  without  examining  the  company  he  was  in  :  for  which 
be  was  often  reprimanded,  and  several  times  threatened  to  be 
kicked  and  beaten." 

The  common  Englishman  is  prone  to  forget  a  cardinal  article 
in  the  bill  of  social  rights,  that  every  man  has  a  right  to  his 
own  ears.  No  man  can  claim  to  usurp  more  than  a  few  cubic 
feet  of  the  audibilities  of  a  public  room,  or  to  put  upon  the 
company  with  the  loud  statements  of  his  crotchets  or  per>ou- 
alities. 

But  it  is  in  the  deep  traits  of  race  that  the  fortunes  of  na 
tions  arj  written,  and  however  derived,  whether  a  happier  tribe 


224  ENGLISH  TKAITS. 

or  mixture  of  tribes,  the  air,  or  what  circumstance,  that  mixed 
for  them  the  golden  mean  of  temperament,  —  here  exists  the 
best  stock  in  the  world,  broad-fronted,  broad-bottomed,  best 
for  depth,  range,  and  equability,  men  of  aplomb  and  reserves, 
great  range  and  many  moods,  strong  instincts,  yet  apt  for  cul 
ture  ;  war-class  as  well  as  clerks  ;  earls  and  tradesmen ;  wise 
minority,  as  well  as  foolish  majority ;  abysmal  temperament, 
hiding  wells  of  wrath,  and  glooms  on  which  no  sunshine  settles  ; 
alternated  with  a  common  sense  and  humanity  which  hold  them 
fast  to  every  piece  of  cheerful  duty  ;  making  this  temperament 
a  sea  to  which  all  storms  are  superficial ;  a  race  to  which  their 
fortunes  flow,  as  if  they  alone  had  the  elastic  organization  at 
once  fine  and  robust  enough  for  dominion  ;  as  if  the  burly  inex 
pressive,  now  mute  and  contumacious,  now  fierce  and  sharp- 
tongued  dragon,  which  once  made  the  island  light  with  his  fiery 
breath,  had  bequeathed  his  ferocity  to  his  conqueror.  They 
hide  virtues  under  vices,  or  the  semblance  of  them.  It  is  the 
misshapen  hairy  Scandinavian  troll  again,  who  lifts  the  cart 
out  of  the  mire,  or  "  threshes  the  corn  that  ten  day-laborers 
could  not  end,"  but  it  is  done  in  the  dark,  and  with  muttered 
maledictions.  He  is  a  churl  with  a  soft  place  in  his  heart, 
whose  speech  is  a  brash  of  bitter  waters,  but  who  loves  to  help 
you  at  a  pinch.  He  says  no,  and  serves  you,  and  your  thanks 
disgust  him.  Here  was  lately  a  cross-grained  miser,  odd  and 
ugly,  resembling  in  countenance  the  portrait  of  Punch,  with 
the  laugh  left  out ;  rich  by  his  own  industry  ;  sulking  in  a 
lonely  house  ;  who  never  gave  a  dinner  to  any  man,  and  dis 
dained  all  courtesies  ;  yet  as  true  a  worshipper  of  beauty  in  form 
and  color  as  ever  existed,  and  profusely  pouring  over  the  cold 
mind  of  his  countrymen  creations  of  grace  and  truth,  removing 
the  reproach  of  sterility  from  English  art,  catching  from  their 
savage  climate  every  fine  hint,  and  importing  into  their  galleries 
every  tint  and  trait  of  sunnier  cities  and  skies  ;  making  an  era 
in  painting ;  and,  when  he  saw  that  the  splendor  of  one  of  his 
pictures  in  the  Exhibition  dimmed  his  rival's  that  hung  next 
it,  secretly  took  a  brush  and  blackened  his  own. 

•  They  do  not  wear  their  heart  in  their  sleeve  for  daws  to  peck 
at.  They  have  that  phlegm  or  staidness,  which  it  is  a  compli 
ment  to  disturb.  "  Great  men,"  said  Aristotle,  "  are  always  of 
a  nature  originally  melancholy."  'T  is  the  habit  of  a  mind 
which  attaches  to  abstractions  with  a  passion  which  gives  vast 
results.  They  dare  to  displease,  they  do  not  speak  to  expecta 
tion.  They  like  the  sayers  of  No,  better  than  the  sayers  of 


CHARACTER. 

Yes.  Each  of  them  has  an  opinion  which  He  feels  it  becomes 
him  to  express  all  the  more  that  it  differs  from  yours.  They 
are  meditating  opposition.  This  gravity  is  inseparable  from 
minds  of  great  resources. 

There  is  an  English  hero  superior  to  the  French,  the  Ger 
man,  the  Italian,  or  the  Greek.  When  he  is  brought  to  the 
strife  with  fate,  h"  a  richer  material  possession,  and 

on  more  purely  metaphysical  grounds.  He  is  there  with  his 
own  c<ni>ent.  iace  to  lace  with  fortune,  which  he  defies.  On 
deliberate  choice,  and  fr«»m  grounds  of  character,  he  has 
i  his  part  TO  live  and  die  for,  and  dies  with  grandeur. 
This  rare  has  added  new  elements  to  humanity,  and  has  a 
deeper  root  in  the  world. 

They  have  trreat  ranire  of  scale,  from  ferocity  to  exquisite 
refinement.  With  larger  scale,  they  have  great  retrieving  pow 
er.  After  running  each  tendency  to  an  extreme,  they  try 
another  tack  with  equal  heat.  More  intellectual  than  other 
when  they  live  with  other  races,  they  do  not  take  their 
lanirua-^e.  but  b..-s.tow  their  own.  They  subsidize  other  na 
tion-,  and  are  not  subsidized.  They  proselyte,  and  are  not 
proselyted.  They  assimilate  other  races  to  themselves,  and  are 
Minilated.  The  English  did  not  calculate  the  conquest  of 
the  Indies.  It  fell  to  their  character.  So  they  administer  in 
different  parts  of  the  world,  the  codes  of  every  empire  and 
race  ;  in  Canada,  old  French  law  ;  in  the  Mauritius,  the  Code 
Napoleon  ;  in  the  West  Indies,  the  edicts  of  the  Spanish  Cor 
tes  ;  in  the  East  Indies,  the  Laws  of  Menu  :  in  the  Isle  of 
Man,  of  the  Scandinavian  Thing  :  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope, 
of  the  old  .Netherlands ;  and  in  the  Ionian  Islands,  the  Pan- 
ian. 

They  are  very  conscious  of  their  advantageous  position  in 
history.  England  is  the  lawgiver,  the  patron,  the  instructor, 
the  ally.  Compare  the  tone  of  the  French  and  of  the  Eng 
lish  press  :  the  first  querulous,  captious,  sensitive,  about 
English  opinion  :  the  English  press  is  never  timorous  about 
'.•h  opinion,  but  arrogant  and  contemptuous. 

They  are   testy  and   headstrong  through  an    excess   of  will 

and  bias  :  churlish  be  who  do  not 

a  debt,  who  ask  im  favors,  and  who  will  do  what  they 

like  with  their  own.      With  education  and  intercourse    these 

asperities  wear  off,  and  leave  the  ur<"»od-will  pure.      If  anatomy 

is  reformed    a«-«-«-rdin^   to   national   teiidein-     -.    1    -•;:••    MB,  the 

spleen  will  hereafter  be  found  in  the  Englishman,  not  found 

10*  o 


226  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

in  the  American,  and  differencing  the  one  from  the  other.  I 
anticipate  another  anatomical  discovery,  that  this  organ  will 
be  found  to  be  cortical  and  caducous,  that  they  are  superfi 
cially  morose,  but  at  last  tender-hearted,  herein  differing  from 
Rome  and  the  Latin  nations.  Nothing  savage,  nothing  mean 
resides  in  the  English  heart.  They  are  subject  to  panics  of 
credulity  and  of  rage,  but  the  temper  of  the  nation,  however 
disturbed,  settles  itself  soon  and  easily,  as,  in  this  temperate 
zone,  the  sky  after  whatever  storms  clears  again,  and  serenity 
is  its  normal  condition. 

A  saving  stupidity  masks  and  protects  their  perception  as 
the  curtain  of  the  eagle's  eye.  Our  swifter  American's,  when 
they  first  deal  with  English,  pronounce  them  stupid  ;  but,  la 
ter,  do  them  justice  as  people  who  wear  well,  or  hide  their 
strength.  To  understand  the  power  of  performance  that  is 
in  their  finest  wits,  in  the  patient  Newton,  or  in  the  versa 
tile  transcendent  poets,  or  in  the  Dugdales,  Gibbons,  Hallams, 
Eldons,  and  Peels,  one  should  see  how  English  day-laborers 
hold  out.  High  and  low,  they  are  of  an  unctuous  texture. 
There  is  an  adipocere  in  their  constitution,  as  if  they  had  oil 
also  for  their  mental  wheels,  and  could  perform  vast  amounts 
of  work  without  damaging  themselves. 

Even  the  scale  of  expense  on  which  people  live,  and  to 
which  scholars  and  professional  men  conform,  proves  the  ten 
sion  of  their  muscle,  when  vast  numbers  are  found  who  can 
each  lift  this  enormous  load.  I  might  even  add,  their  daily 
feasts  argue  a  savage  vigor  of  body. 

No  nation  was  ever  so  rich  in  able  men  :  "  Gentlemen,"  as 
Charles  I.  said  of  Strafford,  "whose  abilities  might  make  a 
prince  rather  afraid  than  ashamed  in  the  greatest  affairs  of 
state  "  :  men  of  such  temper,  that,  like  Baron  Vere,  "  had  one 
seen  him  returning  from  a  victory,  he  would  by  his  silence 
have  suspected  that  he  had  lost  the  day ;  and,  had  he  beheld 
him  in  a  retreat,  he  would  have  collected  him  a  conqueror  by 
the  cheerfulness  of  his  spirit."* 

The  following  passage  from  the  Heimskringla  might  al 
most  stand  as  a  portrait  of  the  modern  Englishman  :  — 
"  Haldor  was  very  stout  and  strong,  and  remarkably  hand 
some  in  appearances.  King  Harold  gave  him  this  testimony, 
that  he,  among  all  his  men,  cared  least  about  doubtful  circum 
stances,  whether  they  betokened  danger  or  pleasure ;  for, 
whatever  turned  up,  he  was  never  in  higher  nor  in  lower 

*  Fuller.     Worthies  of  Englandl 


CHARACTER.  227 

its,  never  slept  less  nor  more  on  account  of  them,  nor  ate  nor 
drank  l>ut  according  to  his  custom.  llaldor  was  not  a  man  <>t' 
manv  words,  but  short  in  conversation,  told  his  opinion  blunt- 
Iv,  and  was  obstinate  and  hard  ;  and  this  could  not  please  the 
king,  who  had  many  clever  people  about  him,  xealous  in  his 
service.  llaldor  remained  a  short  time  with  the  king,  and  then 
came  to  Iceland,  where  he  took  up  his  abode  in  lliardaholt, 
and  dwelt  in  that  farm  to  a  very  advanced  age.''* 

The  national  temp.T,  in  the  civil  history,  is  not  flashy  or 
wliilllin.^.  The  slow,  deep  English  mass  smoulders  with  fire, 
which  at  last  sets  all  its  borders  in  flame.  The  wrath  of  Lon 
don  is  not  French  wrath,  hut  has  a  long  memory,  and,  in  its 
hottest,  heat,  a  ivu'istrr  and  rule. 

Half  their  strength  they  put  not  forth.  They  arc  capable 
of  a  sublime  resolution,  and  if  hereafter  the  war  of  races, 
often  predicted,  and  making  itself  a  war  of  opinions  also  (a 
question  of  despotism  and  liberty  coming  from  Eastern 
Europe),  should  menace  the  English  civilization,  these  sea- 
kin-j-s  may  take  once  again  to  their  floating  castles,  and  find  a 
new  home  and  a  second  millennium  of  power  in  their  col 
onies. 

The  stability  of  England  is  the  security  of  the  modern 
world.  If  the  English  race  were  as  mutable  as  the  French, 
what  reliance  I  But  the  English  stand  for  liberty.  The  con 
servative,  monev-lovinijf,  lord-loving  English  are  yet  liberty- 
loving  ;  and  so  freedom  is  safe  :  for  they  have  more  personal 
force  than  other  people.  The  nation  always  resist  the  im 
moral  action  of  their  government.  They  think  humanely  on 
the  affairs  of  France,  of  Turkey,  of  Poland,  of  Hungary,  of 
Schleswig  Holstein,  though  overborne  by  the  statecraft  of  the 
rulers  at  la.-t. 

Does  the  early  history  of  each  tribe  show  the  permanent 
bias,  which,  though  not  less  potent,  is  masked,  as  the  tribe 
spreads  its  activity  into" colonies,  commerce,  codes,  arts,  letters] 
The  early  history  shows  it,  as  the  musician  plays  the  air  which 
he  proceed-  to  conceal  in  a  tempest  of  variations.  In  Alfred, 
in  the  Northmen,  one  may  read  the  genius  of  the  English 
society,  namely,  that  private  life  is  the  place  of  honor.  Glory, 
a  career,  and  ambit  ion,  words  familiar  to  the  longitude  of 
Paris,  are  seldom  heard  in  English  speech.  Nelson  wrote 
from  their  hearts  his  homely  telegraph,  "England  expects 
every  man  to  do  his  duty." 

*  Heimskringla,  Laing's  translation,  Vol.  III.  p.  37. 


228  ENGLISH  TEAITS. 

For  actual  service,  for  the  dignity  of  a  profession,  or  to  ap 
pease  diseased  or  inflamed  talent,  the  army  and  navy  may  be 
entered  (the  worst  boys  doing  well  in  the  navy) ;  and  the 
civil  service,  in  departments  where  serious  official  work  is 
done  ;  and  they  hold  in  esteem  the  barrister  engaged  in  the 
severer  studies  of  the  law.  But  the  calm,  sound,  and  most 
British  Briton  shrinks  from  public  life,  as  charlatanism,  and 
respects  an  economy  founded  on  agriculture,  coal-mines,  manu 
factures,  or  trade,  which  secures  an  independence  through  the 
creation  of  real  values. 

They  wish  neither  to  command  or  obey,  but  to  be  kings  in 
their  own  houses.  They  are  intellectual  and  deeply  enjoy 
literature  ;  they  like  well  to  have  the  world  served  up  to  them 
in  books,  maps,  models,  and  every  mode  of  exact  information, 
and,  though  not  creators  in  the  art,  they  value  its  refinement. 
They  are  ready  for  leisure,  can  direct  and  fill  their  own  day, 
nor  need  so  much  as  others  the  constraint  of  a  necessity.  But 
the  history  of  the  nation  discloses,  at  every  turn,  this  original 
predilection  for  private  independence,  and,  however  this  in 
clination  may  have  been  disturbed  by  the  bribes  with  which 
their  vast  colonial  power  has  warped  men  out  of  orbit,  the  in 
clination  endures,  and  forms  and  reforms  the  laws,  letters, 
manners,  and  occupations.  They  choose  that  welfare  which 
is  compatible  with  the  commonwealth,  knowing  that  such  alone 
is  stable  j  as  wise  merchants  prefer  investments  in  three  per 
cents. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

COCKAYNE. 

/ 

r  I  "HE  English  are  a  nation  of  humorists.  Individual  right 
is  pushed  to  the  uttermost  bound  compatible  with  pub 
lic  order.  Property  is  so ,  perfect,  that  it  seems  the  craft  of 
that  race,  and  not  to  exist  elsewhere.  The  king  cannot  step 
on  an  acre  which  the  peasant  refuses  to  sell.  A  testator  en 
dows  a  dog  or  a  rookery,  and  Europe  cannot  interfere  with  his 
absurdity.  Every  individual  has  his  particular  way  of  living, 
which  he  pushes  to  folly,  and  the  decided  sympathy  of  his 
compatriots  is  engaged  to  back  up  Mr.  Crump's  whim  by  stat 
utes,  and  chancellors,  and  horse-guards.  There  is  no  freak  so 


COCKAYNK.  229 

ridiculous  but  some  Englishman  has  attempted  to  immortali/e 
by  money  and  law.  British  citi/.enship  is  as  omnipotent  as 
lioman  \vas.  Mr.  Cockayne  is  very  sensible  of  this.  The 
pursy  man  means  by  IVeedom  the  right  to  do  as  he  pleases, 
and  does  wrong  in  order  to  feel  his  freedom,  and  makes  a  con 
science  of  persisting  in  it. 

He  is  intensely  patriotic,  for  his  country  is  so  small.  His 
confidence  in  the  power  and  performance  of  his  nation  makes 
him  provokingly  incurious  about  other  nations.  He  dislikes 
foreigners.  Swedenborg,  who  lived  much  in  England,  notes 
"the  similitude  of  minds  among  the  English,  in  consequence 
of  which  they  contract  familiarity  with  friends  who  are  of 
that  nation,  and  seldom  with  others;  and  they  regard  foreign 
ers,  as  one  looking  through  a  telescope  from  the  top  of  a 
palace-  regards  those  who  dwell  or  wander  about  out  of  the 
citv."  .V  much  older  traveller,  the  Venetian  who  wrote  the 
"Bdatren  of  England,"*  in  1500,  says:  "The  English  are 
great  lovers  of  themselves,  and  of  everything  belonging  to 
them.  They  think  that  there  are  no  other  men  than  them 
selves,  and  no  other  world  but  England  ;  and,  whenever  they 
see  a  handsome-  foreigner,  they  say  that  he  looks  like-  an  Eng 
lishman,  and  it  is  a  great  pity  he  should  not  be  an  English 
man  ;  and  whenever  they  partake  of  any  delicacy  with  a 
foreigner,  they  ask  him  whether  such  a  thing  is  made  in  his 
countrv."  When  he  adds  epithets  of  praise,  his  climax  is 
"so  English";  and  when  he  wishes  to  pay  you  the  highest 
compliment,  he  says,  I  should  not  know  you  from  an  English 
man.  France  is,  by  its  natural  contrast,  a  kind  of  blackboard 
on  which  English  *  character  draws  its  own  traits  in  chalk. 
This  arrogance  habitually  exhibits  itself  in  allusions  to  the 
French.  I  suppose  that  all  men  of  English  blood  in  America, 
Europe,  or  Asia,  have  a  secret  feeling  of  joy  that  they  are  not 
French  natives.  Mr.  Coleridge  is  said  to  have  given  public 
thanks  to  God,  at  the  close  of  a  lecture,  that  he  had  defended 
him  from  being  able  to  utter  a  single  sentence  in  the  Freiu  h 
language.  1  have  found  that  Englishmen  have  such  a  good 
opinion  of  England,  that  the  ordinary  phrases,  in  all  good 
society,  of  postponing  or  disparaging  one's  own  things  in  talk 
ing  with  a  stranger,  are  seriously  mistaken  by  them  for  an  in- 
supprcssible  homage  to  the  merits  of  their  nation  ;  and  the 
New-Yorker  or  Pennsylvania!!  who  modestly  laments  the  dis 
advantage  of  a  new  country,  log-huts,  and  savages,  is  surprised 

*  Printed  by  the  Camden  Society. 


230  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

by  the  instant  and  unfeigned  commiseration  of  the  whole  com 
pany,  who  plainly  account  all  the  world  out  of  England  a  heap 
of  rubbish. 

The  same  insular  limitation  pinches  his  foreign  politics.  He 
sticks  to  his  traditions  and  usages,  and,  so  help  him  God !  he 
will  force  his  island  by-laws  down  the  throat  of  great  countries, 
like  India,  China,  Canada,  Australia,  and  not  only  so,  but  im 
pose  Wapping  on  the  Congress  of  Vienna,  and  trample  down 
all  nationalities  with  his  taxed  boots.  Lord  Chatham  goes  for 
liberty,  and  no  taxation  without  representation;  —  for  that  is 
British  law ;  but  not  a  hobnail  shall  they  dare  make  in  Ameri 
ca,  but  buy  their  nails  in  England, — for  that  also  is  British 
law  ;  and  the  fact  that  British  commerce  was  to  be  re-created 
by  the  independence  of  America,  took  them  all  by  surprise. 

In  short,  I  am  afraid  that  English  nature  is  so  rank  and 
aggressive  as  to  be  a  little  incompatible  with  every  other.  The 
world  is  not  wide  enough  for  two. 

But,  beyond  this  nationality,  it  must  be  admitted,  the  island 
offers  a  daily  worship  to  the  old  Norse  god  Brage,  celebrated 
among  our  Scandinavian  forefathers,  for  his  eloquence  and 
majestic  air.  The  English  have  a  steady  courage,  that  fits 
them  for  great  attempts  and  endurance  :  they  have  also  a 
petty  courage,  through  which  every  man  delights  in  showing 
himself  for  what  he  is,  and  in  doing  what  he  can ;  so  that,  in 
all  companies,  each  of  them  has  too  good  an  opinion  of  him 
self  to  imitate  anybody.  He  hides  no  defect  of  his  form,  fea 
tures,  dress,  connection,  or  birthplace,  for  he  thinks  every 
circumstance  belonging  to  him  comes  recommended  to  you. 
If  one  of  them  have  a  bald,  or  a  red,  or  a  green  head,  or  bow 
legs,  or  a  scar,  or  mark,  or  a  paunch,  or  a  squeaking  or  a 
raven  voice,  he  has  persuaded  himself  that  there  is  something 
modish  and  becoming  in  it,  and  that  it  sits  well  on  him. 

But  nature  makes  nothing  in  vain,  and  this  little  superfluity 
of  self-regard  in  the  English  brain  is  one  of  the  secrets  of 
their  power  and  history.  For,  it  sets  every  man  on  being  and 
doing  what  he  really  is  and  can.  It  takes  away  a  dodging, 
skulking,  secondary  air,  and  encourages  a  frank  and  manly 
bearing,  so  that  each  man  makes  the  most  of  himself,  and 
loses  no  opportunity  for  want  of  pushing.  A  man's  personal 
defects  will  commonly  have  with  the  rest  of  the  world  pre 
cisely  that  importance  which  they  have  to  himself.  If  he 
makes  light  of  them,  so  will  other  men.  We  all  find  in  these 
a  convenient  meter  of  character,  since  a  little  man  would  be 


COCKAYNE.  231 

ruined  by  the  vexation.  I  remember  a  shrewd  politician,  in 
one  of  (mi-  Western  cities,  told  me,  "that  he  had  known  several 
successful  Matomen  made  by  their  ibible."  And  another,  an 
\eruor  of  Illinois,  said  to  me  :  "  If  a  man  knew  anything, 
he  would  sit  in  a  corner  and  be  modest  ;  but  he  is  such  an 
ignorant  peacock,  that  he  pies  bustling  np  and  down,  and  hits 
on  extraordinary  discoveries." 

There  is  also  this  benefit  in  brag,  that  the  speaker  is  uncon 
sciously  expressing  his  own  ideal.  Humor  him  by  all  means, 
draw  it  all  out,  and  hold  him  to  it.  Their  culture  generally 
enables  the  travelled  English  to  avoid  any  ridiculous  extremes 
of  this  self-pleasing,  and  to  give  it  an  agreeable  air.  Then  the 
natural  disposition  is  fostered  by  the  respect  which  they  find 
entertained  in  the  world  for  English  ability.  It  was  said  of 
Louis  XIV.,  that  his  gait  and  air  were  becoming  enough  in  so 
great  a  monarch,  yet  would  have  been  ridiculous  in  another 
man  ;  so  the  prestige  of  the  English  name  warrants  a  certain 
confident  bearing,  which  a  Frenchman  or  Belgian  could  not 
cany.  At  all  events,  they  feel  themselves  at  liberty  to  assume 
the  most  extraordinary  tone  on  the  subject  of  English  merits. 

An  English  lady  on  the  llhinc  hearing  a  German  speaking 
of  her  party  as  foreigners,  exclaimed,  "  No,  we  are  not  for 
eigners  :  we  are  English  ;  it  is  you  that  are  foreigners."  They 
t'-ll  you  daily,  in  London,  the  story  of  the  Frenchman  and 
Englishman  who  quarrelled.  Both  were  unwilling  to  fight,  but 
their  companions  put  them  np  to  it ;  at  last,  it  was  agreed, 
that  they  should  fight  alone,  in  the  dark,  and  with  pistols  :  the 
candles  were  put  out,  and  the  Englishman,  to  make  sure  not 
to  hit  anybody,  fired  up  the  chimney,  and  brought  down  the 
Frenchman.  They  have  no  curiosity  about  foreigners,  and 
answer  any  information  yon  may  volunteer  with,  "Oh,  Oh  !" 
until  the  informant  makes  up  his  mind,  that  they  shall  die  in 
their  ignorance,  for  any  help  he  will  offer.  There  are  really  no 
limits  to  this  conceit,  though  brighter  men  among  them  make 
painful  efforts  to  be  candid. 

The  habit  of  brag  runs  through  all  classes,  from  the  Timr* 
newspaper  through  politicians  and  poets,  through  Wordsworth, 
Carlvle,  Mill,  and  Sydney  Smith,  down  to  the  boys  of  Eton. 
In  the  gravest  treatise  on  political  economy,  in  a  philosophical 
essay,  in  books  of  science,  one  is  surprised  by  the  most  in 
nocent  exhibition  of  unflinching  nationality.  In  a  tract  on 
Corn,  a  most  amiable  and  accomplished  gentleman  writes  thus  : 
v'  Though  Britain,  according  to  Bishop  Berkeley's  idea,  were 


232  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

surrounded  by  a  wall  of  brass  ten  thousand  cubits  in  height, 
still,  she  would  as  far  excel  the  rest  of  the  globe  in  riches,  as 
she  now  does,  both  in  this  secondary  quality,  and  in  the  more 
important  ones  of  freedom,  virtue,  and  science."  * 

The  English  dislike  the  American  structure  of  society, 
whilst  yet  trade,  mills,  public  education,  and  chartism  are  do 
ing  what  they  can  to  create  in  England  the  same  social  condi 
tion.  America  is  the  paradise  of  the  economists ;  is  the  favor 
able  exception  invariably  quoted  to  the  rules  of  ruin  ;  but 
when  he  speaks  directly  of  the  Americans,  the  islander  forgets 
his  philosophy,  and  remembers  his  disparaging  anecdotes. 

But  this  childish  patriotism  costs  something,  like  all  narrow 
ness.  The  English  sway  of  their  colonies  has  no  root  of  kind 
ness.  They  govern  by  their  arts  and  ability ;  they  are  more 
just  than  kind  ;  and,  whenever  an  abatement  of  their  power 
is  felt,  they  have  not  conciliated  the  affection  on  which  to  rely. 

Coarse  local  distinctions,  as  those  of  nation,  province,  or 
town,  are  useful  in  the  absence  of  real  ones  ;  but  we  must  not 
insist  on  these  accidental  lines.  Individual  traits  are  always 
triumphing  over  national  ones.  There  is  no  fence  in  meta 
physics  discriminating  Greek,  or  English,  or  Spanish  science. 
^Esop,  and  Montaigne,  Cervantes  and  Saadi,  are  men  of  the 
world  ;  and  to  wave  our  own  flag  at  the  dinner-table  or  in  the 
University,  is  to  carry  the  boisterous  dulness  of  a  fire-club  into 
a  polite  circle.  Nature  and  destiny  are  always  on  the  watch  for 
our  follies.  Nature  trips  us  up  when  we  strut ;  and  there  are 
curious  examples  in  history  on  this  very  point  of  national  pride. 

George  of  Cappadocia,  born  at  Epiphania  in  Cilicia,  was  a 
low  parasite,  who  got  a  lucrative  contract  to  supply  the  army 
with  bacon.  A  rogue  and  informer,  he  got  rich,  and  was  forced 
to  run  from  justice.  He  saved  his  money,  embraced  Arianism, 
collected  a  library,  and  got  promoted  by  a  faction  to  the  epis 
copal  throne  of  Alexandria.  When  Julian  came,  A.  D.  361, 
George  was  dragged  to  prison  ;  the  prison  was  burst  open  by 
the  mob,  and  George  was  lynched,  as  he  deserved.  And  this 
precious  knave  became,  in  good  time,  Saint  George  of  England, 
patron  of  chivalry,  emblem  of  victory  and  civility,  and  the 
pride  of  the  best  blood  of  the  modern  world. 

Strange,  that  the  solid  truth-speaking  Briton  should  derive 
from  an  impostor.  Strange,  that  the  New  World  should  have 
no  better  luck,  —  that  broad  America  must  wear  the  name  of 
a  thief.  Amerigo  Vespucci,  the  pickle-dealer  at  Seville,  who 

*  William  Spence. 


WKALTH.  233 

went  out,  in  1499,  a  subaltern  with  Hojeda,  and  whose  highest 

naval  rank  was  boatswain's  mate  in  an  expedit  ion  that  never 
sailed,  managed  in  this  lying  world  to  supplant  Columbus,  and 
bapti/.e  half  the  earth  with  his  own  dishonest  name.  Thus  no- 
lM)dv  can  throw  holies.  \Ve  are  equally  badly  otf  in  our  found 
ers  ;  and  the  false  pickle-dealer  is  an  otl'set  to  the  false  bacon- 
seller. 


UNIVERSITY 

CHAPTER  " J  " 


WEALTH. 


THERE  is  no  country  in  which  so  absolute  a  homage  is 
paid  to  wealth.  In  America,  there  is  a  touch  of  shame 
when  a  man  exhibits  the  evidences  of  large  property,  as  if, 
after  all,  it  needed  apology.  But  the  Englishman  has  pure 
pride  in  his  wealth,  and  esteems  it  a  final  certificate.  A  coarso 
logic  rules  throughout  all  English  souls  ;  —  if  you  have  merit, 
ean  YOU  not  show  it  by  your  good  clothes,  and  coach,  and 
horses  \  How  can  a  man  be  a  gentleman  without  a  pipe  of 
wine?  Haydon  says,  "There  is  a  fierce  resolution  to  make 
every  man  live  according  to  the  means  he  possesses."  There 
is  a  mixture  of  religion  in  it.  They  are  under  the  Jewish  law, 
and  read  with  sonorous  emphasis  that  their  days  shall  be  long 
in  the  land,  they  shall  have  sons  and  daughters,  flocks  and 
herds,  wine  and  oil.  In  exact  proportion  is  the  reproach  of 
poverty.  They  do  not  wish  to  be  represented  except  by  opu 
lent  men.  An  Englishman  who  has  lost  his  fortune  is  said  to 
have  died  of  a  broken  heart.  The  last  term  of  insult  is,  "a 
heu^ar."  Nelson  said,  "The  want  of  fortune  is  a  crime 
which  I  can  never  get  over."  Sydney  Smith  said,  "  Poverty  is 
infamous  in  England."  And  one  of  their  recent  writers  speaks, 
in  reference  to  a  private  and  scholastic  life,  of  "  the  grave 
moral  deterioration  which  follows  an  emptv  exchequer."  You 
shall  find  this  sentiment,  if  not  so  frankly  put,  yet  deeply  im 
plied,  in  the  novels  and  romances  of  the  present  century,  and 
not  only  in  these,  but  in  biography,  and  in  the  votes  of  public 
assemblies,  in  the  tone  of  the  preaching,  and  in  the  table-talk. 
I  was  lately  turning  over  Wood's  Af/tence  Oxonieiises,  and 
looking  nat ni-ally  for  another  standard  in  a  chronicle  of  the 
scholars  of  Oxford  for  two  hundred  years.  But  I  found  the 


234  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

two  disgraces  in  that,  as  in  most  English  books,  are,  first, 
disloyalty  to  Church  and  State,  and,  second,  to  be  born  poor, 
or  to  come  to  poverty.  A  natural  fruit  of  England  is  the 
brutal  political  economy.  Malthus  finds  no  cover  laid  at 
nature's  table  for  the  laborer's  son.  In  1809,  the  majority  in 
Parliament  expressed  itself  by  the  language  of  Mr.  Fuller  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  "  If  you  do  not  like  the  country,  damn 
you,  you  can  leave  it."  When  Sir  S.  Komilly  proposed  his 
bill  forbidding  parish  officers  to  bind  children  apprentices  at  a 
greater  distance  than  forty  miles  from  their  home,  Peel  op 
posed,  and  Mr.  Wortley  said,  "  though,  in  the  higher  ranks,  to 
cultivate  family  affections  was  a  good  thing,  't  was  not  so 
among  the  lower  orders.  Better  take  them  away  from  those 
who  might  deprave  them.  And  it  was  highly  injurious  to 
trade  to  stop  binding  to  manufacturers,  as  it  must  raise  the 
price  of  labor,  and  of  manufactured  goods." 

The  respect  for  truth  of  facts  in  England  is  equalled  only 
by  the  respect  for  wealth.  It  is  at  once  the  pride  of  art  of  the 
Saxon,  as  he  is  a  wealth-maker,  and  his  passion  for  indepen 
dence.  The  Englishman  believes  that  every  man  must  take 
care  of  himself,  and  has  himself  to  thank,  if  he  do  not  mend 
his  condition.  To  pay  their  debts  is  their  national  point  of 
honor.  From  the  Exchequer  and  the  East  India  House  to 
the  huckster's  shop,  everything  prospers,  because  it  is  solvent. 
The  British  armies  are  solvent,  and  pay  for  what  they  take. 
The  British  empire  is  solvent  ;  for,  in  spite  of  the  huge  nation 
al  debt,  the  valuation  mounts.  During  the  war  from  1789  to 
1815,  whilst  they  complained  that  they  were  taxed  within  an 
inch  of  their  lives,  and,  by  dint  of  enormous  taxes,  were  sub 
sidizing  all  the  continent  against  France,  the  English  were 
growing  rich  every  year  faster  than  any  people  ever  grew  be 
fore.  It  is  their  maxim,  that  the  weight  of  taxes  must  be  cal 
culated,  not  by  what  is  taken,  but  by  what  is  left.  Solvency  is 
in  the  ideas  and  mechanism  of  an  Englishman.  The  Crystal 
Palace  is  not  considered  honest  until  it  pays  ;  no  matter 
how  much  convenience,  beauty,  or  eclat  it  must  be  self-sup 
porting.  They  are  contented  with  slower  steamers,  as  long 
as  they  know  that  swifter  boats  lose  money.  They  proceed 
logically  by  the  double  method  of  labor  and  thrift.  Every 
household  exhibits  an  exact  economy,  and  nothing  of  that  un- 
calculated  headlong  expenditure  which  families  use  in  America. 
If  they  cannot  pay,  they  do  not  buy  ;  for  they  have  no  pre 
sumption  of  better  fortunes  next  year,  as  our  people  have  ; 


WEALTH.  235 

and  they  say  without  shame.  1  cannot  afl'ord  it.  Gentlemen  do 
not  hesitate  to  ride  in  the  second-elass  ears,  or  in  the  second 
cabin.  An  iv>nomist,  or  a  man  who  ean  proportion  his  means 
and  his  ambition,  or  bring  the  year  round  with  expenditure 
which  BXproeaet  iiis  character,  without  embarrassing  «.ne  day  of 
his  future,  is  already  a  master  of  life,  ami  a  freeman.  I, on  I 
Burleigh  writer  to  his  son,  "that  one  ought  never  to  devote 
nmiv  than  two  thirds  of  his  income  to  the  ordinary  expenses 
of  life,  since  the  extraordinary  will  be  certain  to  absorb  the 
other  third." 

The  ambition  to  create  value  evokes  every  kind  of  ability, 
government  becomes  a  manufacturing  corporation,  and  every 
house  a  mill.  The  headlong  bias  to  utility  will  let  no  talent 
lie  in  a  napkin,  —  if  possible,  will  teach  spiders  to  weave  silk 
stockings.  An  Knulishman,  while  he  cats  and  drinks  no  more, 
or  not  much  more  than  another  man,  labors  three  times  as 
many  hours  in  the  course  of  a  year,  as  any  other  Kuropc-an  ; 
or,  his  life  as  a  workman  is  three  lives.  He  works  fast. 
Kverything  in  Kngland  is  at  a  quick  pace.  They  have  rein 
forced  their  own  productivity,  by  the  creation  of  that  mar 
vellous  machinery  which  differences  this  age  from  any  other 
age. 

'T  is  a  curious  chapter  in  modern  history,  the  growth  of  the 
machine-shop.  Six  hundred  years  ago,  Roger  Bacon  explained 
the  precession  of  the  equinoxes,  the  consequent  necessity  of 
the  reform  of  the  calendar  ;  measured  the  length  of  the  year, 
invented  gunpowder:  and  announced  (as  if  looking  from  his 
lofty  cell,  over  five  centuries,  into  ours)  "  that  machines  can 
be  constructed  to  drive  ships  more  rapidly  than  a  whole  galley 
of  rowers  could  do  ;  nor  would  they  need  anything  but  a 
pilot  to  steer  them.  Carriages  also  might  be  constructed  to 
move  with  an  incredible  speed,  without  the  aid  of  any  animal. 
Finally,  it  would  not  be  impossible  to  make  machines,  which, 
by  means  of  a  suit  of  wings,  should  fly  in  the  air  in  the  man 
ner  of  birds."  Hut  the  secret  slept  with  Bacon.  The  six 
hundred  years  have  not  yet  fulfilled  his  words.  Two  centuries 
UL'o.  the  sawing  of  timber  was  done  by  hand  ;  the  carriage 
wheels  ran  on  wooden  axles;  the  land  was  tilled  by  wooden 
ploughs.  And  it  was  to  little  purpose  that  thev  had  pit-coal 
or  that  loojps  were  improved,  unless  Watt,  and  Stephenson  had 
taught  them  to  work  force-pumps  and  power-looms  by  steam. 
The  great  strides  were  all  taken  within  the  last  hundred 
years.  The  life  of  Sir  Robert  Peel,  who  died,  the  other  day, 


236  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

the  model  Englishman,  very  properly  has,  for  a  frontispiece, 
a  drawing  of  the  spinning-jenny,  which  wove  the  web  of  his 
fortunes.  Hargreaves  invented  the  spinning-jenny,  and  died 
in  a  workhouse.  Arkwright  improved  the  invention  ;  and  the 
machine  dispensed  with  the  work  of  ninety-nine  men  :  that  is, 
one  spinner  could  do  as  much  work  as  one  hundred  had  done 
before.  The  loom  was  improved  further.  But  the  men  would 
sometimes  strike  for  wages,  and  combine  against  the  mas 
ters,  and,  about  1829  -30,  much  fear  was  felt,  lest  the  trade 
would  be  drawn  away  by  these  interruptions,  and  the  emigra 
tion  of  the  spinners,  to  Belgium  and  the  United  States.  Iron 
and  steel  are  very  obedient.  Whether  it  were  not  possible  to 
make  a  spinner  that  would  not  rebel,  nor  mutter,  nor  scowl, 
nor  strike  for  wages,  nor  emigrate  1  At  the  solicitation  of  the 
masters,  after  a  mob  and  riot  at  Staley  Bridge,  Mr.  Roberts  of 
Manchester  undertook  to  create  this  peaceful  fellow,  instead 
of  the  quarrelsome  fellow  God  had  made.  After  a  few  trials, 
he  succeeded,  and,  in  1830,  procured  a  patent  for  his  self-act 
ing  mule  ;  a  creation,  the  delight  of  mill-owners,  and  "  des 
tined,"  they  said,  "  to  restore  order  among  the  industrious 
classes  "  ;  a  machine  requiring  only  a  child's  hand  tp  piece  the 
broken  yarns.  As  Arkwright  had  destroyed  domestic  spinning, 
so  Roberts  destroyed  the  factory  spinner.  The  power  of 
machinery  in  Great  Britain,  in  mills,  has  been  computed  to  be 
equal  to  600,000,000  men,  one  man  being  able  by  the  aid  of 
steam  to  do  the  work  which  required  two  hundred  and  fifty 
men  to  accomplish  fifty  years  ago.  The  production  has  been 
commensurate.  England  already  had  this  laborious  race,  rich 
soil,  water,  wood,  coal,  iron,  and  favorable  climate.  Eight 
hundred  years  ago,  commerce  had  made  it  rich,  and  it  was 
recorded,  "  England  is  the  richest  of  all  the  northern  nations." 
The  Norman  historians  recite,  that  "in  1067,  William  carried 
with  him  into  Normandy,  from  England,  more  gold  and  silver 
than  had  ever  before  been  seen  in  Gaul.  But  when,  to  this 
labor  and  trade,  and  these  native  resources  was  added  this 
goblin  of  steam,  with  his  myriad  arms,  never  tired,  working 
night  and  day  everlastingly,  the  amassing  of  property  has  run 
out  of  all  figures.  It  makes  the  motor  of  the  last  ninety  years. 
The  steam-pipe  has  added  to  her  population  and  wealth  the 
equivalent  of  four  or  five  Englands.  Forty  thousaod  ships  are 
entered  in  Lloyd's  lists.  The  yield  of  wheat  has  gone  on  from 
2,000,000  quarters  in  the  time  of  the  Stuarts,  to  13,000,000 
in  1854.  A  thousand  million  of  pounds  sterling  are  said  to 


WEALTH.  237 

compose  the  floating  money  of  commerce.  In  1848,  Lord 
John  Ixussell  stated  that  the  people  of  this  country  had  laid 
out  £900,000,600  of  capital  ill  railways,  in  the  last  tour  \ears. 
But  a  better  measure  than  these  sounding  figures  is  the  t  Mi 
niate,  that  there  is  wealth  enough  in  Kngland  to  support  the 
entire  population  in  idleness  for  one  year. 

The  wise.  \rrsatilc.  all  -giving  niaehinery  makes  chisels, 
roads,  locomotives,  telegraphs.  \Yhitworth  divides  a  bar  to 
a  millionth  of  an  inch.  Steam  twines  huge  cannon  into 
wreaths,  as  easily  as  it  braids  straw,  and  vies  with  the  volcanic 
forces  which  twisted  the  strata.  It  can  clothe  shingle  moun 
tains  with  ship-oaks,  make  sword-blades  that  will  cut  gun- 
ban-els  in  two.  In  Kgypt.  it  can  plant  forests,  and  bring 
rain  after  three  thousand  years.  Already  it  is  ruddering  the 
balloon,  and  the  next  war  will  be  fought  in  the  air.  But 
another  machine  more  potent  in  England  than  steam,  is  the 
Bank.  It  votes  an  issue  of  bills,  population  is  stimulated,  and 
cities  rise  ;  it  refuses  loans,  and  emigration  empties  the 
country;  trade  sinks;  revolutions  break  out;  kings  are  de 
throned.  I'.y  these  new  agents  our  social  system  is  moulded. 
By  dint  of  steam  and  of  money,  war  and  commerce  are 
changed.  Nations  have  lost  their  old  omnipotence  ;  the  patri 
otic  tie  does  not  hold.  Nations  are  getting  obsolete,  we  go 
and  live  where  we  will.  Steam  has  enabled  men  to  choose 
what  law  they  will  live  under.  Money  makes  place  for  them. 
The  telegraph  is  a  limp-band  that  will  hold  the  Fenris-wolf  of 
war.  For  now,  that  a  telegraph  line  runs  through  France  and 
Europe,  from  London,  every  message  it  transmits  makes 
stronger  by  one  thread  the  band  which  war  will  have  to 
cut. 

The  introduction  of  these  elements  gives  new  resources  to 
existing  proprietors.  A  sporting  duke  may  fancy  that  the 
state  depends  on  the  House  of  Lords,  but  the  engineer  sees, 
that  every  stroke  of  the  steam-piston  gives  value  to  the  duke's 
land,  fills  it  with  tenants  :  doubles,  quadruples,  centuples  the 
duke's  cnpital.  and  creates  new  measures  and  new  necessities 
for  the  culture  of  his  children.  Of  course,  it  draws  the  no 
bility  into  the  competition  as  stockholders  in  the  mine,  the 
canal,  the  railway,  in  the  application  of  steam  to  agriculture, 
and  sometimes  into  trade.  But  it  also  introduces  la'- 
into  the  same  competition  ;  the  old  ener.Lrv  of  the  Norse  race 
arms  itself  with  these  magnificent  powers  ;  new  men  prove  an 
overmatch  for  the  land-owner,  and  the  mill  buys  out  the 


238  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

castle.  Scandinavian  Thor,  who  once  forged  his  bolts  in  icy 
Hecla,  and  built  galleys  by  lonely  fiords ;  in  England,  has  ad 
vanced  with  the  times,  has  shorn  his  beard,  enters  Parliament, 
sits  down  at  a  desk  in  the  India  House,  and  lends  Miollnir  to 
Birmingham  for  a  steam-hammer. 

The  creation  of  wealth  in  England  in  the  last  ninety  years 
is  a  main  fact  in  modern  history.  The  wealth  of  London  de 
termines  prices  all  over  the  globe.  All  things  precious,  or 
useful,  or  amusing,  or  intoxicating,  are  sucked  into  this  com 
merce  and  floated  to  London.  Some  English  private  fortunes 
reach,  and  some  exceed,  a  million  of  dollars  a  year.  A  hun 
dred  thousand  palaces  adorn  the  island.  All  that  can  feed  the 
senses  and  passions,  all  that  can  succor  the  talent,  or  arm  the 
hands  of  the  intelligent  middle  class  who  never  spare  in  what 
they  buy  for  their  own  consumption  ;  all  that  can  aid  science, 
gratify  taste,  or  soothe  comfort,  is  in  open  market.  Whatever 
is  excellent  and  beautiful  in  civil,  rural,  or  ecclesiastic  archi 
tecture  ;  in  fountain,  garden,  or  grounds;  the  English  noble 
crosses  sea  and  land  to  see  and  to  copy  at  home.  The  taste 
and  science  of  thirty  peaceful  generations  ;  the  gardens  which 
Evelyn  planted  ;  the  temples  and  pleasure-houses  which  Inigo 
Jones  and  Christopher  Wren  built ;  the  wood  that  Gibbons 
carved  ;  the  taste  of  foreign  and  domestic  artists,  Shenstone, 
Pope,  Brown,  London,  Paxton,  are  in  the  vast  auction,  and  the 
hereditary  principle  heaps  on  the  owner  of  to-day  the  benefit 
of  ages  of  owners.  The  present  possessors  are  to  the  full  as 
absolute  as  any  of  their  fathers,  in  choosing  and  procuring 
what  they  like.  This  comfort  and  splendor,  the  breadth  of 
lake  and  mountain,  tillage,  pasture,  and  park,  sumptuous 
castle  and  modern  villa,  —  all  consist  with  perfect  order. 
They  have  no  revolutions  ;  no  horse-guards  dictating  to  the 
crown ;  no  Parisian  poissardea  and  barricades  ;  no  mob  :  but 
drowsy  habitude,  daily  dress-dinners,  wine,  and  ale,  and  beer, 
and  gin,  and  sleep. 

With  this  power  of  creation,  and  this  passion  for  indepen 
dence,  property  has  reached  an  ideal  perfection.  It  is  felt  and 
treated  as  the  national  life-blood.  The  laws  are  framed  to 
give  property  the  securest  possible  basis,  and  the  provisions  to 
lock  and  transmit  it  have  exercised  the  cunningest  heads  in  a 
profession  which  never  admits  a  fool.  The  rights  of  property 
nothing  but  felony  and  treason  can  override.  The  house  is  a 
castle  which  the  king  cannot  enter.  The  Bank  is  a  strong  box 
to  which  the  king  has  no  key.  Whatever  surly  sweetness  pos- 


WKALIII.  239 

session  can  give,  is  tasted  in  Mngland  to  the  dregs.  Vested 
rights  are  awful  things,  and  absolute  possession  gives  the 
smallest  freeholder  identity  of  interest  with  the  duke.  High 
stone  fences,  and  padlocked  garden  gates  announce  the  absolute 
will  of  the  owner  to  be  alone.  Kvery  whim  of  exaggerated 
-in  is  jnit  into  stone  and  iron,  into  silver  and  gold,  with 
costly  deliberation  and  detail. 

An  Kn_dishm.in  hears  that  the  Queen  Dowager  wishes  to 
establish  some  claim  to  put  her  park  puling  a  rod  forward  into 
his  grounds,  so  as  to  get  a  coach  way,  ami  save  her  a  mile  to 
the  avenue.  Instantly  he  transforms  his  paling  into  stone  ma 
sonry,  solid  as  the  walls  of  Cuma,  and  all  Europe  cannot  pre 
vail  on  him  to  sell  or  compound  for  an  inch  of  the  land. 
They  delight  in  a  freak  as  the  proof  of  their  sovereign  free 
dom.  Sir  Kdwartl  Boynton,  at  Spie  Park,  at  Cadenham.  on 
a  precipice  of  incomparable  prospect,  built  a  house  like  a  long 
barn,  which  had  not  a  window  on  the  prospect  side.  Straw 
berry  Hill  of  Horace  Walpole,  Konthill  Abbey  of  Mr.  Beck^ 
ford,  were  freaks;  and  Newstead  Abbey  became  one  in  tho 
hands  of  Lord  Byron. 

But  the  proudest  result  of  this  creation  has  been  tho  great 
and  refined  forces  ir  has  put  at  the  disposal  of  the  private  citi 
zen.  In  the  social  world,  an  Englis'mian  to-day  has  the  best 
lot.  He  is  a  king  in  a  plain  coat.  He  goes  with  the  most 
powerful  protection,  keeps  the  best  company,  is  armed  by  the 
best  education,  is  seconded  by  wealth  ;  and  his  English  name 
and  accidents  are  like  a  flourish  of  trumpets  announcing  him. 
This,  with  his  quiet  style  of  manners,  gives  him  the  power  of 
a  sovereign,  without  the  inconveniences  which  belong  to  that 
rank.  I  much  prefer  the  condition  of  an  Knglish  gentleman 
of  the  better  class,  to  that  of  any  potentate  in  Europe, - 
whether  for  travel,  or  for  opportunity  of  society,  or  for  access 
to  means  of  science  or  study,  or  for  mere  comfort  and  easy 
healthy  relation  to  people  at  home. 

Such  as  we  have  seen  is  the  wealth  of  England,  a  mighty 
and  made  good  in  whatever  details  we  eaiv  to  explore. 
The  Cause  mad  spring  of  it  is  the  wealth  of  temperament  in 
the  people.  The  wonder  of  Brit-tin  is  this  plenteous  nature. 
Her  worthies  are  ever  surrounded  by  as  good  men  as  th'-m- 
selves  ;  each  is  a  captain  a  hundred  strong,  and  that  wealth 
of  men  is  represented  airain  in  the  faculty  of  each  individual, 
—  that  he  has  waste  stivnirth,  power  to  spare.  The  English 
arc  so  rich,  and  seem  to  have  established  a  taproot  in  the  bow- 


240  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

els  of  the  planet,  because  they  are  constitutionally  fertile  and 
creative. 

But  a  man  must  keep  an  eye  on  his  servants,  if  he  would 
not  have  them  rule  him.  Man  is  a  shrewd  inventor,  and  is 
ever  taking  the  hint  of  a  new  machine  from  his  own  struc 
ture,  adapting  some  secret  of  his  own  anatomy  in  iron,  wood, 
and  leather,  to  some  required  function  in  the  work  of  the 
world.  But  it  is  found  that  the  machine  unmans  the  user. 
What  he  gains  in  making  cloth,  he  loses  in  general  power. 
There  should  be  temperance  in  making  cloth,  as  well  as  in 
eating.  A  man  should  not  be  a  silkworm ;  nor  a  nation  a 
tent  of  caterpillars.  The  robust  rural  Saxon  degenerates  in 
the  mills  to  the  Leicester  stock inger,  to  the  imbecile  Manches 
ter  spinner,  —  far  on  the  way  to  be  spiders  and  needles.  The 
incessant  repetition  of  the  same  hand-work  dwarfs  the  man, 
robs  him  of  his  strength,  wit,  and  versatility,  to  make  a  pin- 
polisher,  a  buckle-maker,  or  any  other  specialty ;  and  present 
ly,  in  a  change  of  industry,  whole  towns  are  sacrificed  like  ant 
hills,  when  the  fashion  of  shoe-strings  supersedes  buckles, 
when  cotton  takes  the  place  of  linen,  or  railways  of  turnpikes, 
or  when  commons  are  enclosed  by  landlords.  Then  society  is 
admonished  of  the  mischief  of  the  division  of  labor,  and  that 
the  best  political  economy  is  care  and  culture  of  men  ;  for,  in 
these  crises,  all  are  ruined  except  such  as  are  proper  individu 
als,  capable  of  thought,  and  of  new  choice  and  the  application 
of  their  talent  to  new  labor.  Then  again  come  in  new  calami 
ties.  England  is  aghast  at  the  disclosure  of  her  fraud  in  the 
adulteration  of  food,  of  drugs,  and  of  almost  every  fabric  in 
her  mills  and  shops ;  finding  that  -milk  will  not  nourish,  nor 
sugar  sweeten,  nor  bread  satisfy,  nor  pepper  bite  the  tongue, 
nor  glue  stick.  In  true  England  all  is  false  and  forged.  This 
too  is  the  reaction  of  machinery,  but  of  the  larger  machinery 
of  commerce.  'T  is  not,  I  suppose,  want  of  probity,  so  much 
as  the  tyranny  of  trade,  which  necessitates  a  perpetual  com 
petition  of  underselling,  and  that  again  a  perpetual  deteriora 
tion  of  the  fabric. 

The  machinery  has  proved,  like  the  balloon,  unmanageable, 
and  flies  away  with  the  aeronaut.  Steam  from  the  first  hissed 
and  screamed  to  warn  him  ;  it  was  dreadful  with  its  explo 
sion,  and  crushed  the  engineer.  The  machinist  has  wrought 
and  watched,  engineers  and  firemen  without  number  have  been 
sacrificed  in  learning  to  tame  and  guide  the  monster.  But 
harder  still  it  has  proved  to  resist  and  rule  the  dragon  Money, 


WEALTH.  241 

with  his  paper  wings.  Chancellors  and  Boards  of  Trade,  Pitt, 
Peel,  and  Robinson,  and  their  Parliaments,  and  their  whole 
generation,  adopted  false  principles,  and  went  to  their  graves 
in  the  belief  that  tliev  were  enriching  the  country  which  they 

were  impoverishing.   They  congratulated  each  other  on  ruinous 

expedients.  It  is  rare  to  find  a  merchant  who  knows  why  a 
crisis  occurs  in  trade,  why  prices  rise  or  fall,  or  who  knows  the 
mischief  of  paper  money.  In  the  culmination  of  national  pros 
perity,  in  the  annexation  of  countries;  building  of  ships,  de 
pots,  towns  ;  in  the  influx  of  tons  of  gold  and  silver  ;  amid  the 
chuckle  of  chancellors  and  financiers,  it  was  found  that  bread 
rose  to  famine  prices,  that  the  yeoman  was  forced  to  sell  his 
cow  and  pig,  his  tools,  and  his  acre  of  land  ;  and  the  dreadful 
barometer  of  the  poor-rates  was  touching  the  point  of  niin. 
The  poor-nit e  was  sucking  in  the  solvent  classes,  and  forcing 
an  exodus  of  farmers  and  mechanics.  What  befalls  from  the 
violence  of  financial  crises,  befalls  daily  in  the  violence  of  arti 
ficial  legislation. 

Such  a  wealth  has  England  earned,  ever  new,  bounteous, 
and  augmenting.  But  the  question  recurs,  does  she  take  the 
step  beyond,  namely,  to  the  wise  use,  in  view  of  the  supreme 
wealth  of  nations  <  We  estimate  the  wisdom  of  nations  by 
seeing  what  they  did  with  their  surplus  capital.  And,  in  view 
of  these  injuries,  some  compensation  has  been  attempted  in 
England.  A  part  of  the  money  earned  returns  to  the  brain 
to  buy  schools,  libraries,  bishops,  astronomers,  chemists,  and 
artists  with  :  and  a  part  to  repair  the  wrongs  of  this  intem 
perate  weaving,  by  hospitals,  savings-banks,  .Mechanics'  Insti 
tutes,  public  grounds,  and  other  charities  and  amenities.  But 
the  antidotes  are  frightfully  inadequate,  and  the  evil  requires 
a  deeper  cure,  which  time  and  a  simpler  social  organization 
must  supply.  At  present,  she  does  not  rule  her  wealth.  She 
is  simply  a  good  England,  but  no  divinity,  or  wise  and  in 
structed  sold.  She  too  is  in  the  stream  of  fate,  one  victim 
more  in  a  common  catastrophe. 

But  beiiiLT  in  the  fault,  she  has  the  misfortune  of  greatness 
to  be  held  as  the  chief  offender.  England  must  be  held  re 
sponsible  tor  the  despotism  of  expense.  Her  prosperity,  the 
splendor  which  so  much  manhood  and  talent  and  perseverance 
has  thrown  upon  vulgar  aims,  is  the  verv  argument  of  mate 
rialism.  Her  success  strengthens  the  hands  of  base  wealth. 
Who  can  propose  to  youth  poverty  and  wisdom,  when  mean 

VOL.  n.  11  r 


242  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

gain  has  arrived  at  the  conquest  of  letters  and  arts ;  when 
English  success  has  grown  out  of  the  very  renunciation  of 
principles,  and  the  dedication  to  outsides.  A  civility  of  trifles, 
of  money  and  expense,  an  erudition  of  sensation  takes  place, 
and  the  putting  as  many  impediments  as  we  can,  between  the 
man  and  his  objects.  Hardly  the  bravest  among  them  have 
the  manliness  to  resist  it  successfully.  Hence,  it  has  come, 
that  not  the  aims  of  a  manly  life,  but  the  means  of  meeting 
a  certain  ponderous  expense,  is  that  which  is  to  be  considered 
by  a  youth  in  England,  emerging  from  his  minority.  A  large 
family  is  reckoned  a  misfortune.  And  it  is  a  consolation  in 
the  death  of  the  young,  that  a  source  of  expense  is  closed. 


CHAPTER  XL 

ARISTOCRACY. 

/T~~VHE  feudal  character  of  the  English  state,  now  that  it  ia 
getting  obsolete,  glares  a  little,  in  contrast  with  the 
democratic  tendencies.  The  inequality  of  power  and  prop 
erty  shocks  republican  nerves.  Palaces,  halls,  villas,  walled 
parks,  all  over  England,  rival  the  splendor  of  royal  seats. 
Many  of  the  halls,  like  Haddon,  or  Kedleston,  are  beautiful 
desolations.  The  proprietor  never  saw  them,  or  never  lived 
in  them.  Primogeniture  built  these  sumptuous  piles,  and,  I 
suppose,  it  is  the  sentiment  of  every  traveller,  as  it  was  mine, 
'T  was  well  to  come  ere  these  were  gone.  Primogeniture  is  a 
cardinal  rule  of  English  property  and  institutions.  Laws, 
customs,  manners,  the  very  persons  and  faces,  affirm  it. 
P'The  frame  of  society  is  aristocratic,  the  taste  of  the  people 
is  loyal.  The  estates,  names,  and  manners  of  the  nobles  nat 
ter  the  fancy  of  the  people,  and  conciliate  the  necessary  sup 
port.  In  spite  of  broken  faith,  stolen  charters,  and  the  devas 
tation  of  society  by  the  profligacy  of  the  court,  we  take  sides 
as  we  read  for  the 'loyal  England  and  King  Charles's  "return 
to  his  right "  with  his  Cavaliers,  —  knowing  what  a  heartless 
trifler  he  is,  and  what  a  crew  of  God-forsaken  robbers  they 
are.  The  people  of  England  knew  as  much.  But  the  fair 
idea  of  a  settled  government  connecting  itself  with  heraldic 
names,  with  the  written  and  oral  history  of  Europe,  and,  at 


ARISTOCRACY.  243 

last,  with  the  Hebrew  religion,  and  the  oldest  traditions  of 
tin-  \vi.rld,  WM  too  pleasing  ;i  vision  to  In-  shattered  by  a  few 
offensive  realities,  and  the  politics  of  shoemakers  and  coster- 
mongers.  Tin1  hop.  s  of  tlu-  commoners  take  tlie  same  direc- 
tion  with  the  interest  of  the  patricians.  Kvery  man  who  be 
comes  rich  buys  land,  and  does  what  he  can  to  fortify  the 
nobility,  into  which  he  hopes  to  rise.  The  Anglican  clergy 
are  identified  with  the  aristocracy.  Time  find  law  have  made 
the  joining  and  moulding  perfect  'in  every  part.  Tlie  Cathe 
drals,  the  I'niversities,  the  national  music,  the  popular  ro 
mances,  conspire  to  uphold  the  heraldry,  which  the  cm-rent 
polities  of  the  day  are  supping.  The  taste  of  the  people  is 
cons.'i-vative.  They  are  proud  of  the  castles,  and  of  the  lan 
guage  and  symbol  of  chivalry.  Kveii  the  word  "lord"  is  the 
luckiest  style  that  is  used  in  any  language  to  designate  a 
patrician.  The  superior  education  and  manners  of  the  nobles 
recommend  them  to  the  country.  "7 

The  Norwegian  pirate  got  \yhnThe  could,  and  held  it  for  his 
eldest  son.  The  Norman  noble,  who  was  the  Norwegian  pirate 
baptized,  did  likewise.  There  was  this  advantage  of  Western 
over  Oriental  nobility,  that  this  was  recruited  from  below. 
English  history  is  aristocracy  with  the  doors  open.  Who  has 
courage  and  faculty,  let  him  come  in.  Of  course,  the  terms 
of  admission  to  this  club  are  hard  and  high.  The  selfishness 
of  the  nobles  comes  in  aid  of  the  interest  of  the  nation  to 
require  signal  merit.  Piracy  and  war  gave  place  to  trade, 
politics,  and  letters  :  the  war-lord  to  the  law-lord  ;  the  law- 
lord  to  the  merchant  and  the  mill-owner;  but  the  privilege 
was  kept,  whilst  the  means  of  obtaining  it  were  changed. 

The  foundations  of  these  families  lie  deep  in  Norwegian 
exploits  bv  sea.  and  Saxon  sturdiness  on  land.  All  nobility  in 
its  beginnings  was  somebody's  natural  superiority.  The  things 
these  Knglish  have  done  were  not  done  without  peril  of  Ii|i>, 
nor  without  wisdom  and  conduct  :  and  the  first  hands,  it  may 
be  presumed,  were  often  challenged  to  show  their  right  to 
their  honors,  or  yield  them  to  better  men.  '•  He  that  will  be 
a  head,  let  him  be  a  bridge,"  said  the  Welsh  chief  Benegridran, 
when  lie  carried  all  his  men  over  the  river  on  his  back.  "  He 
shall  have  the  hook."  said  the  mother  of  Alfred,  "who  can 
read  it";  and  Alfred  won  it  by  that  title:  and  I  make  no 
doubt  that  feudal  tenure  was  no  sinecure,  but  baron,  knight, 
and  tenant  often  had  their  memories  refreshed,  in  regard  to 
the  service  by  which  they  held  their  lands.  The  De  Veres, 


244  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

Bohuns,  Mowbrays,  and  Plantagenets  were  not  addicted  to 
contemplation.  The  Middle  Age  adorned  itself  with  proofs 
of  manhood  and  devotion.  Of  Richard  Beauchamp,  Earl  of 
Warwick,  the  Emperor  told  Henry  V.  that  no  Christian  king 
had  such  another  knight  for  wisdom,  nurture,  and  manhood, 
and  caused  him  to  l>e  named,  "  Father  of  curtesie."  "  Our 
success  in  France,"  says  the  historian,  "lived  and  died  with 
him."  * 

The  war-lord  earned  his  honors,  and  no  donation  of  land 
was  large,  as  long  as  it  brought  the  duty  of  protecting  it,  hour 
by  hour,  against  a  terrible  enemy.  In  France  and  in  England, 
the  nobles  were,  down  to  a  late  day,  born  and  bred  to  war ; 
and  the  duel,  which  in  peace  still  held  them  to  the  risks  of  war, 
diminished  the  envy  that,  in  trading  and  studious  nations, 
would  else  have  pried  into  their  title.  They  were  looked  on 
as  men  who  played  high  for  a  great  stake. 

Great  estates  are  not  sinecures,  if  they  are  to  be  kept  great. 
A  creative  economy  is  the  fuel  of  magnificence.  In  the  same 
line  of  Warwick,  the  successor  next  but  one  to  Beauchamp, 
was  the  stout  earl  of  Henry  VI.  and  Edward  IV.  Few  es 
teemed  themselves  in  the  mode,  whose  heads  were  not  adorned 
with  the  black  ragged  staff,  his  badge.  At  his  house  in  Lon 
don,  six  oxen  were  daily  eaten  at  a  breakfast ;  and  every  tavern 
was  full  of  his  meat ;  and  who  had  any  acquaintance  in  his 
family,  should  have  as  much  boiled  and  roast  as  he  could  carry 
on  a  long  dagger. 

The  new  age  brings  new  qualities  into  request,  the  virtues 
of  pirates  gave  way  to  those  of  planters,  merchants,  senators, 
and  scholars.  Comity,  social  talent,  and  fine  manners,  no 
doubt,  have  had  their  part  also.  I  have  met  somewhere  with 
a  historiette,  which,  whether  more  or  less  true  in  its  particu 
lars,  carries  a  general  truth.  "  How  came  the  Duke  of  Bedford 
by  his  great  landed  estates  1  His  ancestor  having  travelled  on 
the  continent,  a  lively,  pleasant  man,  became  the  companion 
of  a  foreign  prince  wrecked  on  the  Dorsetshire  coast,  where 
Mr.  Russell  lived.  The  prince  recommended  him  to  Henry 
VIII.,  who,  liking  his  company,  gave  him  a  large  share  of  the 
plundered  church  lands." 

The  pretence  is  that  the  noble  is  of  unbroken  descent  from 
the  Norman,  and  has  never  worked  for  eight  hundred  years. 
But  the  fact  is  otherwise.  Where  is  Bohun  1  where  is  De  Vere  1 
The  lawyer,  the  farmer,  the  silk-mercer,  lies  perdu  under  the 

*  Fuller's  Worthies.  II.  p  472. 


ARISTOCRACY.  245 

coronet,  and  winks  to  the  antiquary  to  say  nothing  ;  especially 
skilful  lawyers,  nobody's  sons,  \v!n»  did  some   piece   of  work    ;it 

a  nice  moment  for  government .  and  were  rewarded  with  ermine. 

The  national  tastes  of  the  Knulish  do  not  lead  them  to  the 
life  of  the  courtier,  hut  to  seeure  the  comfort  and  independence 
of  their  homos.  The  aristocracy  are  marked  by  their  predi- 
lection  for  COlintry4ifa  'fhey  are  called  the  county-families. 
They  have  often  no  residence  in  London,  and  only  go  thither  a 
short  time,  during  the  season,  to  see  the  opera  ;  hut  they  con 
centrate  tho  love  and  labor  of  many  gonerat  ions  on  the  build- 
in-.:,  phut  ing,  and  decoration  of  their  homesteads.  Some  of 
them  are  too  old  and  too  proud  to  wear  titles,  or.  as  Sheridan 
said  of  Coke,  "  di>duin  to  hide  their  head  in  a  coronet  ":  and 
some  curious  examples  are  cited  to  sho\v  the  stability  of  Kng- 
lish  families.  Their  proverb  is,  that,  fifty  miles  from  London, 
a  family  will  last  a  hundred  years  ;  at  a  hundred  miles,  two 
hundred  voars  ;  and  soon  ;  but  I  doubt  that  steam,  the  enemy 
of  time,  as  we'll  as  of  space,  will  disturb  these  ancient  rules. 
Sir  Henry  Wottoii  says  of  the  first  Duke  of  Buckingham :  "He 
was  born  at  Hrookehy  in  Leicestershire,  when-  his  ancestors 
had  chiefly  continued  about  the  space  of  four  hundred  years, 
rather  without  obscurity,  than  with  any  great  lustre.'1  *  Wrax- 
all  says,  that,  in  1  ~S  I ,  Lord  Surrey,  afterwards  Duke  of  Nor 
folk,  told  him,  that  when  the  year  1783  should  arrive,  he 
mcanr  to  ^ivo  a  grand  festival  to  all  the  descendants  of  tho 
body  of  Jockey  of  Norfolk,  to  mark  the  day  when  the  dukedom 
should  have  remained  three  hundred  years  in  their  house,  since 
its  creation  by  Richard  III.  Pepys  tells  us,  in  writing  of  an 
Karl  Oxford,  in  1GGG,  that  the  honor  had  now  remained  in  that 
name  and  blood  six  hundred  years. 

This  long  descent  of  families  and  this  cleaving  through  ageg 
to  the  MOM  spot  of  -round  captivates  the  imagination.  It 
has  too  a  connection  with  the  names  of  the  towns  and  districts 
of  the  country. 

The  names  are  excellent,  —  an  atmosphere  of  legendary  mel' 

odv  spread  over  the  land.     Older  than  all  epics  and  histories, 

:  clothe  a  nation,  this  undershirt  sits  close  to  the  body. 

history  too,  and  what  stores  of  primitive  and   sava-o 

observation  it  infolds  !     Cambridge  is  the  bridge  of  the  Cam; 

M  the  field  of  the  river   Sheaf;    Leirrster  the  rttsfra  or 

cam])  of  the  Lear  or  Leir  (now  Soar) ;   1  loch  dale,  of  the  Koch  ; 

Exeter  or  Excester,  the   castra  of  the    Kx  ;   Kxniouth,   Dart* 

*  Reliquiae  Wottonianw,  p.  298. 


246  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

mouth,  Sidmouth,  Teignmouth,  the  mouths  of  the  Ex.  Dart, 
Sid,  and  Teigii  rivers.  Waltham  is  strong  town  ;  Radcliffe  is 
red  cliff ;  and  so  on  :  —  a  sincerity  and  use  in  naming  very 
striking  to  an  American,  whose  country  is  whitewashed  all  over 
by  unmeaning  names,  the  cast-off  clothes  of  the  country  from 
which  its  emigrants  came ;  or,  named  at  a  pinch  from  a  psalm- 
tune.  But  the  English  are  those  "  barbarians  "  of  Jamblichus, 
who  "arc  stable  in  their  manners,  and  firmly  continue  to  em 
ploy  the  same  words,  which  also  are  dear  to  the  gods." 

T  is  an  old  sneer,  that  the  Irish  peerage  drew  their  names 
from  playbooks.  The  English  lords  do  not  call  their  lands  after 
thcj£_own  names,  but  call  themselves  after  their  lands ;  as  if 
the  man  represented  the  country  that  bred  him  ;  and  they 
rightly  wear  the  token  of  the  glebe  that  gave  them  birth  ;  sug 
gesting  that  the  tie  is  not  cut,  but  that  there  in  London,  — 
the  crags  of  Argyle,  the  kail  of  Cornwall,  the  downs  of  Devon, 
the  iron  of  Wales,  the  clays  of  Stafford,  are  neither  forgetting 
nor  forgotten,  but  know  the  man  who  was  born  by  them,  and 
who,  like  the  long  line  of  his  fathers,  has  carried  that  crag, 
that  shore,  dale,  fen,  or  woodland,  in  his  blood  and  manners. 
"fj  has,  too,  the  advantage  of  suggesting  responsibleness.  A 
susceptible  man  could  not  wear  a  name  which  represented  in  a 
strict  sense  a  city  or  a  county  of  England,  without  hearing  in 
it  a  challenge  to  duty  and  honor. 

The  predilection  of  the  patricians  for  residence  in  the  coun 
try,  combined  with  the  degree  of  liberty  possessed  by  the 
peasant,  makes  the  safety  of  the  English  hall.  Mirabeau  wrote 
prophetically  from  England,  in  1784  :  "  If  revolution  break  out 
in  France,  I  tremble  for  the  aristocracy  :  their  chateaux  will  be 
reduced  to  ashes,  and  their  blood  spilt  in  torrents.  The  Eng 
lish  tenant  would  defend  his  lord  to  the  last  extremity."  The 
English  go  to  their  estates  for  grandeur.  The  French  live  at 
court,  and  exile  themselves  to  their  estates  for  economy.  As 
they  do  not  mean  to  live  with  their  tenants,  they  do  not  con 
ciliate  them,  but  wring  from  them  the  last  sous.  Evelyn  writes 
from  Blois,  in  1644  :  "  The  wolves  are  here  in  such  numbers, 
that  they  often  come  and  take  children  out  of  the  streets  ;  yet 
will  not  the  Duke,  who  is  sovereign  here,  permit  them  to  be 
destroyed." 

In  evidence  of  the  wealth  amassed  by  ancient  families,  the 
traveller  is  shown  the  palaces  in  Piccadilly,  Burlington  House, 
Devonshire  House,  Lansdowne  House  in  Berkshire  Square,  and, 
lower  down  in  the  city,  a  few  noble  houses  which  still  with- 


ARISTOCRACY.  247 

stand  in  all  their  amplitude  the  encroachment  of  streets.  The 
Duke  of  Bedford  includes  or  included  a  mile  square  in  the 
heart  «>f  London,  where  the  British  Museum,  onee  Montague 
House,  ii"\\  -lands,  and  the  land  occupied  \)\  \Yolnirn  Square, 
Bedford  Square.  Russell  Square.  The  Marquis  of  \\estminster 
built  within  a  few  years  the  series  of  squares  called  Pu'lgravia. 
Statiord  llfi.M-  is  the  n«'Mr>t  j.alace  in  l.ondon.  Northumber 
land  House  holds  its  place  by  Charing  Cross.  Chesterfield 
HoK.-e  remains  in  Audlcy  Street.  Sion  House  and  Holland 
are  i:i  the  suburbs,  lint  most  of  the  historical  houses 
are  masked  or  lost  in  the  modern  uses  to  which  trade  or  char 
ity  has  converted  them.  A  multitude  of  town  palaces  contain 
inestimable  galleries  of  art. 

Ill  the  country,  the  size  of  private  estates  is  more  impres 
sive.  From  Barnard  Castle  I  rode  on  the  highway  twenty  1  hree 
miles  from  High  Force,  a  fall  of  the  Tees,  towards  Darlington, 
past  Ruby  Castle,  through  the  estate  of  the  Duke  of  ( 'leveland. 
The  Marquis  of  Breadalbane  rides  out.  of  his  house  a  hundred 
mil'  s  in  a  straight  line  to  the  sea,  on  his  own  property.  The 
Duke  of  Sutherland  owns  the  county  of  Sutherland,  stretching 
!  Scotland  from  sea  to  sea.  The  Duke  of  Devonshire, 
besides  his  other  estates,  owns  90,000  acres  in  the  county  of 
Derbv.  The  Duke  of  Richmond  has  40,000  acres  at  Good 
wood',  and  300,000  at  Cordon  Castle.  The  Duke  of  Norfolk's 
park  in  Sussex  is  fifteen  miles  in  circuit.  An  agriculturist 
bought  lately  the  island  of  Lewes,  in  Hebrides,  containing 
500,000  acres.  The  possessions  of  the  Earl  of  Lonxlale  gpwe 
him  eight  seats  in  Parliament.  This  is  the  Heptarchy  a-ain  : 
and  before  the  Reform  of  1832,  one  hundred  and  fifty-four 
persons  sent  three  hundred  and  seven  members  to  Parliament. 
The  borough-mongers  governed  England. 

These  luge  domains  are  growing  larger.  The  great  estates 
are  absorbing  the  small  freeholds.  In  178G,  the  soil  of  Eng 
land  was  owned  by  I'.")!  ),000  corporations  and  proprietors  ;  and, 
in  IS^L'.  by  32,000.  These  broad  estates  find  room  in  this  nar 
row  island.  All  over  England,  scattered  at  short  intervals 
among  ship-yards,  mills,  mines,  and  forges,  are  the  paradises 
of  the  nobles,  where  the  livelong  repose  and  refinement  are 
heightened  by  the  contrast  with  the  roar  of  industry  and  ne- 
.iy,  out  of  which  you  have  stepped  aside. 

I  was  surprised  to  observe  the  very  small  attendance  usual 
ly  in  the  House  of  Lords.     Out  of  573  peers,  on  ordinary  days, 


248  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

only  twenty  or  thirty.  Where  are  they  ?  I  asked.  "  At  home 
on  their  estates,  devoured  by  ennui,  or  in  the  Alps,  or  up  the 
Rhine,  in  the  Harz  Mountains,  or  in  Egypt,  or  in  India,  on  the 
Ghauts."  But,  with  such  interests  at  stake,  how  can  these 
men  afford  to  neglect  them?  "  0,"  replied  my  friend,  "why 
should  they  work  for  themselves,  when  every  man  in  England 
works  for  them,  and  will  suffer  before  they  come  to  harm  1 " 
The  hardest  radical  instantly  uncovers,  and  changes  his  tone  to 
xa  lord.  It  was  remarked  on  the  10th  April,  1848  (the  day 
|of  the  Chartist  demonstration),  that  the  upper  classes  were,  for 
[the  first  time,  actively  interesting  themselves  in  their  own  de 
fence,  and  men  of  rank  were  sworn  special  constables,  with  the 
rest.  "  Besides,  why  need  they  sit  out  the  debate  ?  Has  not 
the  Duke  of  Wellington,  at  this  moment,  their  proxies,  —  the 
proxies  of  fifty  peers  in  his  pocket,  to  vote  for  them,  if  there 
be  an  emergency  1 " 

It  is  however  true,  that  the  existence  of  the  House  of  Peers 
as  a  branch  of  the  government  entitles  them  to  fill  half  the 
Cabinet ;  and  their  weight  of  property  and  station  give  them 
a  virtual  nomination  of  the  other  half ;  whilst  they  have  their 
share  in  the  subordinate  offices,  as  a  school  of  training.  This 
monopoly  of  political  power  has  given  them  their  intellectual 
and  social  eminence  in  Europe.  A  few  law  lords  and  a  few  po 
litical  lords  take  the  brunt  of  public  business.  In  the  army, 
the  nobility  fill  a  large  part  of  the  high  commissions,  and  give 
to  these  a  tone  of  expense  and  splendor,  and  also  of  exclusive- 
ness.  They  have  borne  their  full  share  of  duty  and  danger  in 
this  service  ;  and  there  are  few  noble  families  which  have  not 
paid  in  some  of  their  members,  the  debt  of  life  or  limb,  in  the 
sacrifices  of  the  Russian  war.  For  the  rest,  the  nobility  have 
the  lead  in  matters  of  state,  and  of  expense ;  in  questions  of 
taste,  in  social  usages,  in  convivial  and  domestic  hospitalities. 
In  general,  all  that  is  required  of  them  is  to  sit  securely,  to  pre 
side  at  public  meetings,  to  countenance  charities,  and  to  give 
the  example  of  that  decorum  so  dear  to  the  British  heart. 

If  one  asks,  in  the  critical  spirit  of  the  clay,  what  service 
this  class  have  rendered  ?  —  uses  appear,  or  they  would  have 
perished  long  ago.  Some  of  these  are  easily  enumerated, 
others  more  subtle  make  a  part  of  unconscious  history.  Their 
institution  is  one  step  in  the  progress  of  society.  For  a  race 
yields  a  nobility  in  some  form,  however  we  name  the  lords,  as 
surely  as  it  yields  women. 

The  English  nobles  are  high-spirited,  active,  educated  men, 


ARISTOCRACY.  240 

born  to  wealth  and  power,  who  have  run  through  every  coun 
try,  and  ki'jiT  in  every  country  the  l»est  company,  have  seen 
every  seen  t  of  art  and  nature,  and,  when  men  of  any  ability 
OF  ambition,  have  been  consulted  iii  the  conduct  of  every  im 
portant  action.  You  cannot  wield  -Teat  agencies  without  lend 
ing  yourself  to  them,  and  \\hrn  it  happens  that  the  spirit  of 
the  earl  UK  vis  his  rank  and  duties,  we  have  the  best  examples 
of  behavior.  Power  of  any  kind  readily  appears  in  the  inan- 
ner>  :  and  beneficent  power,  if  t<il<  nt  <!<•  !>/<  n  fa/re,  gives  a 
majesty  whicli  cannot  be  concealed  or  resisted. 

These  people  seem  to  gain  as  much  as  they  lose  by  their 
position.  They  survey  society,  as  from  the  top  of  St.  Paul's, 
and  if  they  never  hear  plain  truth  from  men,  they  see  the  best 
of  everything,  in  every  kind,  and  they  see  things  so  grouped 
and  amassed  as  to  infer  easily  the  sum  and  genius,  instead  of 
tedious  particularities.  Their  good  behavior  deserves  all  its 
fame,  and  they  have  that  simplicity,  and  that  air  of  repose, 
whicli  are  the  tinest  ornament  of  greatness. 

The  upper  classes  have  only  birth,  say  the  people  here,  and 
not  thoughts.  Yes,  but  they  have  manners,  and,  't  is  wonder 
ful,  how  much  talent  runs  into  manners  :  —  nowhere  and  never 
so  much  as  in  England.  They  have  the  sense  of  superiority, 
the  absence  of  all  the  ambitious  effort  which  disgusts  in  the 
aspiring  (lasses,  a  pure  tone  of  thought  and  feeling,  and  the 
power  to  command,  among  their  other  luxuries,  the  presence 
of  the  most  accomplished  men  in  their  festive  meetings. 

Loyalty  is  in  the  English  a  sub-religion.  They  wear  the 
laws  as  ornaments,  and  walk  by  their  faith  in  their  painted  May- 
Fair,  as  if  among  the  forms  of  gods.  The  economist  of  1855 
who  asks,  of  what  use  are  the  lords  ?  may  learn  of  Franklin  to 
ask,  of  what  use  is  a  baby]  They  have  been  a  social  church 
proper  to  inspire  sentiments  mutually  honoring  the  lover  and 
the  loved.  Politeness  is  the  ritual  of  society,  as  pravers  are 
of  the  church  ;  a  school  of  manners,  and  a  gentle  blessing  to 
the  age  in  which  it  grow.  'T  is  a  romance  adorning  English 
life  with  a  larger  hori/.on  ;  a  midway  heaven,  fulfilling  to  their 
MM  their  fairy  tales  and  poetry/  This,  just  as  far  as  the 
breeding  <>f  the  nobleman,  really  made  him  brave,  handsome, 
iplishod,  and  great-hearted. 

On  ireneral  grounds,  whatever  tends  to  form  manners,  or  to 

finish  men,  has  a  Lrreat  value.      Every  one  who   has  tasted  the 

delight  of  friendship,  will  respect  everv  social  guard  which  our 

manners  can  establish,  tending  to  secure  from  the  intrusion 

11* 


250  ENGLISH   TEAITS. 

of  frivolous  and  distasteful  people.  The  jealousy  of  every 
class  to  guard  itself,  is  a  testimony  to  the  reality  they  have 
found  in  life.  When  a  man  once  knows  that  he  has  done  jus 
tice  to  himself,  let  him  dismiss  all  terrors  of  aristocracy  as 
superstitions,  so  far  as  he  is  concerned.  He  who  keeps  the 
door  of  a  mine,  whether  of  cobalt,  or  mercury,  or  nickle,  or 
plumbago,  securely  knows  that  the  world  cannot  do  without 
him.  Everybody  who  is  real  is  open  and  ready  for  that  which 
is  also  real. 

Besides,  these  are  they  who  make  England  that  strong-box 
and  museum  it  is ;  who  gather  and  protect  works  of  art, 
dragged  from  amidst  burning  cities  and  revolutionary  coun 
tries,  and  brought  hither  out  of  all  the  world.  I  look  with 
respect  at  houses  six,  seven,  eight  hundred,  or,  like  Warwick 
Castle,  nine  hundred  years  old.  I  pardoned  high  park  fences, 
when  1  saw,  that,  besides  does  and  pheasants,  these  have  pre 
served  Arundel  marbles,  Townley  galleries,  Howard  and  Spen 
serian  libraries,  Warwick  and  Portland  vases,  Saxon  manu 
scripts,  monastic  architectures,  millennial  trees,  and  breeds  of 
cattle  elsewhere  extinct.  In  these  manors,  after  the  frenzy  of 
war  and  destruction  subsides  a  little,  the  antiquary  finds  the 
frailest  Roman  jar,  or  crumbling  Egyptian  mummy-case,  with 
out  so  much  as  a  new  layer  of  dust,  keeping  the  series  of  his 
tory  unbroken,  and  waiting  for  its  interpreter,  who  is  sure  to 
arrive.  These  lords  are  the  treasurers  and  librarians  of  man 
kind,  engaged  by  their  pride  and  wealth  to  this  function. 

Yet  there  were  other  works  for  British  dukes  to  do.  George 
London,  Quintinye,  Evelyn,  had  taught  them  to  make  gardens. 
Arthur  Young,  Bakewell,  and  Mechi  have  made  them  agricul 
tural.  Scotland  was  a  camp  until  the  day  of  Culloden.  The 
Dukes  of  Athol,  Sutherland,  Buccleugh,  and  the  Marquis  of 
Brcadalbane  have  introduced  the  rape-culture,  the  sheep-farm, 
wheat,  drainage,  the  plantation  of  forests,  the  artificial  re 
plenishment  of  lakes  and  ponds  with  fish,  the  renting  of  game- 
preserves.  Against  the  cry  of  the  old  tenantry,  and  the  sym 
pathetic  cry  of  the  English  press,  they  have  rooted  out  and 
planted  anew,  and  now  six  millions  of  people  live,  and  live 
better  on  the  same  land  that  fed  three  millions. 

The  English  barons,  in  every  period,  have  been  brave  and 
great,  after  the  estimate  and  opinion  of  their  times.  The 
grand  old  halls  scattered  up  and  down  in  England  are  dumb 
vouchers  to  the  state  and  broad  hospitality  of  their  ancient 
lords.  Shakespeare's  portraits  of  good  Duke  Humphrey,  of 


ABISTOCRACY.  251 

"Warwick,  of  Northumberland,  of  Talbot,  were  drawn  in  strict 
.i.-unv  \\ith  the  tra«litii»ns.  A  sketch  of  the  Karl  of 
Shrewsbury,  fr.'in  the  pen  of  Oueen  Eli/abet  h's  Archbishop 
r;*  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherhury's  autobiography;  the 
ivs  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney  ;  the  anecdotes  piv 
served  i»v  the  antiquaries  Fuller  and  Collins;  some  glimpses 
at  the  interiors  of  noble  houses,  \\liich  we  owe  to  I'epys  and 
Kvelvn  ;  the  details  which  Ben  Jonson's  masques  (performed 
at  Kenilworth,  Althorpe,  Belvoir,  and  other  noble  houses)  re 
cord  i.r  suggest;  down  to  Aubrey's  passages  of  the  life  of 
Hohbes  in  the  house  of  the  Karl  <>f  Devon,  are  favorable  pic- 
of  a  romantic  style  of  manners.  IVnshurst  still  shines 
for  us,  and  its  Christinas  revels,  "where  logs  not  burn,  but 
men."  At  Wilton  House,  the  "  Arcadia"  was  written,  amidst 
conversations  with  Fulke  (ireville,  Lord  Brooke,  a  man  of  no 
vulgar  mind,  as  his  own  poems  declare  him.  1  must  hold 
Ludlow  Castlfi  an  honest  house,  for  which  Milton's  "Comus" 
was  written,  and  the  company  nobly  bred  which  performed  it 
with  knowledge  and  sympathy.  In  the  roll  of  nobles  are 
found  poets,  philosophers,  chemists,  astronomers,  also  men  of 
solid  virtues  and  of  lofty  sentiments;  often  they  have  been 
the  friends  and  patrons  of  genius  and  learning,  and  especially 
of  the  tine  arts;  and  at  this  moment,  almost  every  great  house 
has  its  sumptuous  picture-gallery. 

Of  course,  there  is  another  side  to  this  gorgeous  show. 
Every  victory  was  the  defeat  of  a  party  only  less  worthy. 
Castles  are  proud  things,  but  'tis  safest  to^be  outside  of 
them.  War  is  a  foul  game,  and  yet  war  is  not  the  worst  part 
of  aristocratic  history.  In  later  times,  when  the  baron,  edu 
cated  only  for  war,  with  his  brains  paralyzed  by  his  stomach, 
found  himself  idle  at  home,  he  grew  fat  and  wanton,  and  a 
sorry  brute.  Grammont,  Pepys,  and  Evelyn  show  the  kennels 
to  which  the  king  and  court  went  in  quest  of  pleasure.  Pros 
titutes  taken  from  the  theatres  were  made  duchesses,  their 
ba-tards  dukes  and  earls.  "The  young  men  sat  uppermost, 
the  old  serious  lords  were  out  of  favor."  The  discourse  that 
the  king's  companions  had  with  him  was  ':poor  and  frothy." 
No  man  who  valued  his  head  might  do  what  these  pot-com 
panions  familiarly  did  with  the  king.  In  logical  sequence  of 
these  dignified  revels.  IVpys  can  tell  the  heg'_rarly  shifts  to 
which  the  king  was  reduced,  who  could  not  find  paper  at  his 

*  Dibdin's  Literary  Reminiscences,  Vol.  I.  xii. 


252  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

council  table,  and  "  no  handkerchers  "  in  his  wardrobe,  "  and 
but  three  bands  to  his  neck,"  and  the  linen-draper  and  the 
stationer  were  out  of  pocket,  and  refusing  to  trust  him,  and 
the  baker  will  not  bring  bread  any  longer.  Meantime,  the 
English  Channel  was  swept,  and  London  threatened  by  the 
Dutch  fleet,  manned  too  by  English  sailors,  who,  having  been 
cheated  of  their  pay  for  years  by  the  king,  enlisted  with  the 
enemy. 

The  Selwyn  correspondence  in  the  reign  of  George  III.,  dis 
closes  a  rottenness  in  the  aristocracy,  which  threatened  to  de 
compose  the  state.  The  sycophancy  and  sale  of  votes  and 
honor,  for  place  and  title ;  lewclness,  gaming,  smuggling, 
bribery,  and  cheating  ;  the  sneer  at  the  childish  indiscretion 
of  quarrelling  with  ten  thousand  a  year ;  the  want  of  ideas ; 
the  splendor  of  the  titles,  and  the  apathy  of  the  nation,  are 
instructive,  and  make  the  reader  pause  and  explore  the  firm 
bounds  which  confined  these  vices  to  a  handful  of  rich  men. 
In  the  reign  of  the  Fourth  George,  things  do  not  seem  to 
have  mended,  and  the  rotten  debauchee  let  down  from  a  win 
dow  b/  an  inclined  plane  into  his  coach  to  take  the  air,  was  a 
scandal  to  Europe  which  the  ill  fame  of  his  queen  and  of  his 
family  did  nothing  to  retrieve. 

Under  the  present  reign,  the  perfect  decorum  of  the  Court 
is  thought  to  have  put  a  check  on  the  gross  vices  of  the 
aristocracy ;  yet  gaming,  racing,  drinking,  and  mistresses 
bring  them  down,  and  the  democrat  can  still  gather  scandals, 
if  he  will.  Dismal  anecdotes  abound,  verifying  the  gossip  of 
the  last  generation  of  dukes  served  by  bailiffs,  with  all  their 
plate  in  pawn  ;  of  great  lords  living  by  the  showing  of  their 
houses  ;  and  of  an  old  man  wheeled  in  his  chair  from  room  to 
room,  whilst  his  chambers  are  exhibited  to  the  visitor  for 
money :  of  ruined  dukes  and  earls  living  in  exile  for  debt. 
The  historic  names  of  the  Buckinghams,  Beauforts,  Marl- 
boroughs,  and  Plertfords  have  gained  no  new  lustre,  and  now 
and  then  darker  scandals  break  out,  ominous  as  the  new  chap 
ters  added  under  the  Orleans  dynasty  to  the  "  Causes  Oelebres  " 
in  France.  Even  peers,  who  are  men  of  worth  and  public 
spirit,  are  overtaken  and  embarrassed  by  their  vast  expense. 
The  respectable  Duke  of  Devonshire,  willing  to  be  the  Mecsenas 
and  Lucullus  of  his  island,  is  reported  to  have  said  that  he 
cannot  live  at  Chatsworth  but  one  month  in  the  year.  Their 
many  houses  eat  them  up.  They  cannot  sell  them,  because 
they  are  entailed.  They  will  not  let  them,  for  pride's  sake, 


ARISTOCRACY.  253 

but  keep  them   empty,   aired,   :uid    <hc   grounds    mown    and 
dressed,  at  a  cost  of  four  »  r  live  thousand  pounds    a    year. 
Tin'  spending  is  for  a  great  part  in  servants,  in  many  houses 
diiiu'  a  hundred. 

M">t  of  them  are  only  chargeable  \vitli  idleness,  which,  be 
cause  it  squanders  such  vast  p»\ver  of  benefit,  has  the  mischief 
of  crime.  "  They  might  be  little  Providences  on  earth,"  said 
my  friend,  "and  they  are,  for  the  most  part,  jockeys  and  fops." 
Campbell  sa\  s  :  "  Acquaintance  with  the  nobility,  I  could  never 
keep  up.  It  requires  a  life  of  idleness,  dressing,  and  attendance 
on  their  parties."  I  suppose,  too,  that  a  feeling  of  self-respect 
is  driving  cultivated  men  out  of  this  society,  as  if  the  noblo 
were  slow  to  receive  the  lessons  of  the  times,  and  had  not 
learned  to  disguise  his  pride  of  place.  A  man  of  wit,  who  is 
also  one  of  the  celebrities  of  wealth  and  fashion,  confessed  to 
Ins  friend,  that  he  could  not  enter  their  houses  without  being 
made  to  feel  that  they  were  great  lords,  and  he  a  low  plebeian. 
With  the  tribe  of  artistes,  including  the  musical  tribe,  the 
patrician  morgue  keeps  no  terms,  but  excludes  them.  When 
Julia  Grisi  and  Mario  sang  at  the  houses  of  the  Duke  of 
Wellington  and  other  grandees,  a  ribbon  was  stretched  between 
the  singer  and  the  company. 

When  every  noble  was  a  soldier,  they  were  carefully  bred  to 
great  personal  prowess.  The  education  of  a  soldier  is  a 
simpler  affair  than  that  of  an  carl  in  the  nineteenth  century. 
And  this  was  very  seriously  pursued  ;  they  were  expert  in 
everv  species  of  equitation,  to  the  most  dangerous  practices, 
and  this  down  to  the  accession  of  William  of  Orange.  But 
graver  men  appear  to  have  trained  their  sons  for  civil  affairs. 
Kli/.abeth  extended  her  thought  to  the  future  ;  and  Sir  Philip 
Sidney  in  his  letter  to  his  brother,  and  Milton  and  Evelyn, 
gave  "lAn'm  and  hearty  counsel.  Already,  too,  the  English 
noble  and  squire  were  preparing  for  the  career  of  the  country- 
gentleman,  and  his  peaceable  expense.  They  went  from  city 
to  city,  learning  receipts  to  make  perfumes,  sweet  powders, 
pomanders,  antidotes,  gathering  seeds,  gems,  coins,  and  divers 
curiosities,  preparing  for  a  private  life  thereafter,  in  which 
they  should  take1  pleasure  in  these  recreations. 

All  advantages  given  to  absolve  the  young  patrician  from 
intellectual  labor  arc  of  course  mistaken.  "In  the  university, 
noblemen  are  evmpted  fn.m  the  public  exercises  for  the  de 
gree,  <fcc.,  by  whi.-h  they  attain  a  degree  called  lionorari/.  At 
the  same  time  the  fees  they  have  to  pay  for  matriculation, 


254  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

and  on  all  other  occasions,  are  much  higher."  *  Fuller  records 
"  the  observation  of  foreigners,  that  Englishmen,  by  making 
their  children  gentlemen,  before  they  are  men,  cause  they  are 
so  seldom  wise  men."  This  cockering  justifies  Dr.  Johnson's 
bitter  apology  for  primogeniture,  "  that  it  makes  but  one  fool 
in  a  family." 

The  revolution  in  society  has  reached  this  class.  The  great 
powers  of  industrial  art  have  no  exclusion  of  name  or  blood. 
The  tools  of  our  time,  namely,  steam,  ships,  printing,  money, 
and  popular  education,  belong  to  those  who  can  handle  them ; 
and  their  effect  has  been,  that  advantages  once  confined  to 
men  of  family  are  now  open  to  the  whole  middle  class.  The 
road  that  grandeur  levels  for  his  coach,  toil  can  travel  in  his 
cart. 

This  is  more  manifest  every  day,  but  I  think  it  is  true 
throughout  English  history.  English  history,  wisely  read,  is 
the  vindication  of  the  brain  of  that  people.  Here,  at  last, 
were  climate  and  condition  friendly  to  the  working  faculty. 
Who  now  will  work  and  dare,  shall  rule.  This  is  the  charter, 
or  the  chartism,  which  fogs,  and  seas,  and  rains  proclaimed,  — 
that  intellect  and  personal  force  should  make  the  lawT  ;  tha.t 
industry  and  administrative  talent  should  administer  ;  that 
work  should  wear  the  crown.  I  know  that  not  this,  but  some 
thing  else  is  pretended.  The  fiction  with  which  the  noble  and 
the  bystander  equally  please  themselves  is,  that  the  former  is 
of  unbroken  descent  from  the  Norman,  and  so  has  never  worked 
for  eight  hundred  years.  All  the  families  are  new,  but  the 
name  is  old,  and  they  have  made  a  covenant  with  their  mem 
ories  not  to  disturb  it.  But  the  analysis  of  the  peerage  and 
gentry  shows  the  rapid  decay  and  extinction  of  old  families, 
the  continual  recruiting  of  these  from  new  blood.  The  doors, 
though  ostentatiously  guarded,  are  really  open,  and  hence  the 
power  of  the  bribe.  All  the  barriers  to  rank  only  whet  the 
thirst,  and  enhance  the  prize.  "  Now,"  said  Nelson,  when 
clearing  for  battle,  "  a  peerage,  or  Westminster  Abbey !  " 
"  I  have  no  illusion  left,"  said  Sidney  Smith,  "  but  the  Arch 
bishop  of  Canterbury."  "  The  lawyers,"  said  Burke,  "  are  only 
birds  of  passage  in  this  House  of  Commons,"  and  then  added, 
with  a  new  figure,  "  they  have  their  best  bower  anchor  in  the 
House  of  Lords." 

Another  stride  that  has  been  taken,  appears  in  the  perishing 
of  heraldry.  Whilst  the  privileges  of  nobility  are  passing  to 

*  Huber,  History  of  English  Universities. 


UNIVERSITIES.  255 

the  middle  class,  the  badge  is  discredited,   and  the  titles  of 

lord>hip  are  getting  musty  and  cumbersome.  I  wonder  that 
sensible  mm  have  not  been  already  impatient  of  them.  They 
belong,  with  wigs,  powder,  and  scarlet  coats,  to  an  earlier  age, 
and  may  be  advantageously  consigned,  with  paint  and  tattoo, 
to  the  dignitariea  of  Australia  ami  Polyin 

A  multitude  of  Knglish,  educated  at  the  universities,  bred 
into  their  society  with  manners,  ability,  ami  the  gifts  of  for 
tune,  are  every  day  confronting  the  peers  on  a  footing  of 
equality,  and  outstripping  them,  as  often,  in  the  race  of  honor 
and  inllnence.  That  cultivated  class  is  large  and  ever  enlarg 
ing,  it  is  computed  that,  with  titles  and  without,  there  arc 
seventy  thousand  of  these  people  coming  and  going  in  London, 
who  make  up  what  is  ealled  high  society.  They  cannot  shut 
their  eves  to  the  fact  that  an  nntitled  nobility  possess  all  the 
power  without  the  inconveniences  that  belong  to  rank,  and  the 
rich  Knglishman  goes  over  the  world  at  the  present  day,  draw 
ing  more  than  all  the  advantages  which  the  strongest  of  hig 
kings  could  command. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

UNIVERSITIES. 

OF  British  universities,  Cambridge  has  the  most  illustrious 
names  on  its  list.  At  the  present  day,  too,  it  has  the  ad 
vantage  of  Oxford,  counting  in  its  til  muni  a  greater  number  of 
distinguished  scholars.  I  regret  that  I  had  but  a  single  day 
wherein  to  sec  King's  College  Chapel,  the  beautiful  lawns  and 
gardens  of  the  colleges,  and  a  few  of  its  gownsman. 

But  I  availed  myself  of  some  repeated  invitations  to  Oxford, 
win-re  I  had  introductions  to  Dr.  Daubeiiy,  Professor  of  Botany, 
and  to  the  I  levins  Professor  of  Divinity,  as  well  as  to  a  valued 
friend,  a  Fellow  of  Oriel,  and  went  thither  on  the  last  day  of 
March,  1S4S.  1  was  the  guest  of  my  friend  in  Oriel,  was 
housed  elose  upon  that  college,  and  1  lived  on  college  hospi 
talities. 

My  new  friends  showed  me  their  cloisters,  the  Bodleian 
Library,  the  Randolph  (ialh-ry.  Merton  Hall,  and  the  rest.  I 
saw  several  faithful,  high  minded  young  men,  some  of  them  in 


256  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

the  mood  of  making  sacrifices  for  peace  of  mind,  —  a  topic,  of 
course,  on  which  I  had  no  counsel  to  offer.  Their  affectionate 
and  gregarious  ways  reminded  me  at  once  of  the  habits  of  our 
Cambridge  men,  though  I  imputed  to  these  English  an  ad 
vantage  in  their  secure  and  polished  manners.  The  halls  are 
rich  with  oaken  wainscoting  and  ceiling.  The  pictures  of  the 
founders  hang  from  the  walls ;  the  tables  glitter  with  plate. 
A  youth  came  forward  to  the  upper  table,  and  pronounced  the 
ancient  form  of  grace  before  meals,  which,  I  suppose,  has  been 
in  use  here  for  ages,  Benedictus  benedicat ;  benedicitur,  benedica- 
tur. 

It  is  a  curious  proof  of  the  English  use  and  wont,  or  of  their 
good-nature,  that  these  young  men  are  locked  up  every  night 
at  nine  o'clock,  and  the  porter  at  each  hall  is  required  to  give 
the  name  of  any  belated  student  who  is  admitted  after  that 
hour.  Still  more  descriptive  is  the  fact,  that  out  of  twelve 
hundred  young  men,  comprising  the  most  spirited  of  the  aris 
tocracy,  a  duel  has  never  occurred. 

Oxford  is  old,  even  in  England,  and  conservative.  Its  foun 
dations  date  from  Alfred,  and  even  from  Arthur,  if,  as  is  alleged, 
the  Pheryllt  of  the  Druids  had  a  seminary  here.  In  the  reign 
of  Edward  L,  it  is  pretended,  here  were  thirty  thousand  stu 
dents  ;  and  nineteen  most  noble  foundations  were  then  estab 
lished.  Chaucer  found  it  as  firm  as  if  it  had  always  stood ; 
and  it  is  in  British  story,  rich  with  great  names,  the  school  of 
the  island,  and  the  link  of  England  to  the  learned  of  Europe. 
Hither  came  Erasmus,  with  delight,  in  1497.  Albericus  Gen- 
tilis,  in  1580,  was  relieved  and  maintained  by  the  university. 
Albert  Alaskie,  a  noble  Polonian,  Prince  of  Sirad,  who  visited 
England  to  admire  the  wisdom  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  was  enter 
tained  with  stage-plays  in  the  Refectory  of  Christ-church,  in 
1583.  Isaac  Casaubon,  coming  from  Henri  Quatre  of  France, 
by  invitation  of  James  L,  was  admitted  to  Christ's  College,  in 
July,  1613.  I  saw  the  Ashmolean  Museum,  whither  Elias 
Ashmole,  in  1682,  sent  twelve  cart-loads  of  rarities.  Here 
indeed  was  the  Olympia  of  all  Antony  Wood's  and  Aubrey's 
games  and  heroes,  and  every  inch  of  ground  has  its  lustre. 
For  Wood's  Atkence  Oxonienscs,  or  calendar  of  the  -winters  of 
Oxford  for  two  hundred  years,  is  a  lively  record  of  English 
manners  and  merits,  and  as  much  a  national  monument  as 
Purchas's  Pilgrims  or  Hansard's  Register.  On  every  side, 
Oxford  is  redolent  of  age  and  authority.  Its  gates  shut  of 
themselves  against  modern  innovation.  It  is  still  governed 


UNIVERSITIES.  257 

by  the  statutes  of  Archbishop  Land.  The  books  in  Morton 
Library  are  still  chained  to  the  wall.  Here,  on  August  -J7, 
John  Milton's  I'm  I'njmln  J>/y//.v//,,>  OgftflUtio  and 
•mmitted  to  the  flames.  1  sa\v  the  school- 
court  or  <piadran-le.  where,  in  h'-s:?,  the  ( 'on  vocation  eattfled 
the  Leviathan  of  Thomas  Hohbes  to  be  publicly  burnt.  I  do 
not  know  whether  this  learned  body  have  yet  heard  of  the 
Induration  of  American  Independence,  or  whether  the  Ptole 
maic  astronomy  does  not  still  hold  its  ground  against  the  nov 
elties  of  Copernicus. 

As  mam  sons,  almost  so  many  benefactors.  It  is  usual  for 
a  nobleman,  or  indeed  for  almost  every  wealthy  student,  on 
quitting  eolleire.  to  leave  behind  him  some  article  of  plate  ; 
and  -.rifts  of  all  values,  from  a  hall,  or  a  fellowship,  or  a  library, 
down  to  a  picture  or  a  spoon,  are  continually  accruing  in  the 
course  of  a  century.  My  friend  Doctor  J.  gave  me  the 
following  anecdote.  In  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence's  collection  at 
London  were  the  cartoons  of  Raphael  and  Michel  Angelo. 
This  inestimable  prize  was  ottered  to  Oxford  l/niversity  for 
seven  thousand  pounds.  The  oiler  was  accepted,  and  the 
committee  charged  with  the  affair  had  collected  three  thousand 
pounds,  when  among  other  friends  they  called  on  Lord  Eldon. 
Instead  of  a  hundred  pounds,  he  surprised  them  by  putting 
down  his  name  for  three  thousand  pounds.  They  told  him, 
they  should  now  very  easily  raise  the  remainder.  :'  No,"  he 
said,  "your  men  have  probably  already  contributed  all  they 
can  spare  ;  I  can  as  well  give  the  rest  "  :  and  he  withdrew 
his  check  for  three  thousand,  and  wrote  four  thousand  pounds. 
I  saw  the  whole  collection  in  April,  1848. 

In  the  Bodleian  Library,  Dr.  Bandincl  showed  me  the  manu 
script  Plato,  of  the  date  of  A.  D.  890,  brought  by  Dr.  Clarke 
from  Kgypt  ;  a  manuscript  Virgil,  of  the  same  century  ;  the 
first  Bible  printed  at  Mentz  (I  believe  in  1450)  ;  and  a  dupli 
cate  of  the  same,  which  had  been  deficient  in  about  twenty 
leaves  at  the  end.  But,  one  day,  being  in  Venice,  he  bought 
a  room  full  of  books  and  manuscripts,  — every  scrap  and  frag 
ment,  —  for  four  thousand  louis  d'ors,  and  had  the  doors 
locked  and  seal"d  by  the  consul.  On  proceeding,  afterwards, 
i  i  nine  his  purchase,  he  found  the  twenty  deficient  pages 
of  his  Mentz  Bible,  in  perfect  order;  brought  them  to  Oxford, 
with  the  rest  of  his  purchase,  and  placed  them  in  the 
volume;  but  has  too  much  awe  for  the  Providence  that  ap 
pears  in  bibliography  also,  to  suffer  the  reunited  parts  to  be 

Q 


258  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

rebound.  The  oldest  building  here  is  two  hundred  years 
younger  than  the  frail  manuscript  brought  by  Dr.  Clarke  from 
Egypt.  No  candle  or  fire  is  ever  lighted  in  the  Bodleian.  Its 
catalogue  is  the  standard  catalogue  on  the  desk  of  every  li 
brary  in  Oxford.  In  each  several  college,  they  underscore  in 
red  ink  on  this  catalogue  the  titles  of  books  contained  in  the 
library  of  that  college,  —  the  theory  being  that  the  Bodleian 
has  all  books.  This  rich  library  spent  during  the  last  year 
(1847)  for  the  purchase  of  books  £  1668. 

The  logical  English  train  a  scholar  as  they  train  an  engineer. 
Oxford  is  a  Greek  factory,  as  Wilton  mills  weave  carpet,  and 
Sheffield  grinds  steel.  They  know  the  use  of  a  tutor,  as  they 
know  the  use  of  a  horse  ;  and  they  draw  the  greatest  amount 
of  benefit  out  of  both.  The  reading  men  are  kept  by  hard 
walking,  hard  riding,  and  measured  eating  and  drinking,  at  the 
top  of  their  condition,  and  two  days  before  the  examination, 
do  no  work,  but  lounge,  ride,  or  run,  to  be  fresh  on  the  college 
doomsday.  Seven  years'  residence  is  the  theoretic  period  for  a 
master's  degree.  In  point  of  fact,  it  has  long  been  three  years' 
residence,  and  four  years  more  of  standing.  This  "'three 
years  "  is  about  twenty-one  months  in  all.* 

"  The  whole  expense,"  says  Professor  Sewel,  "  of  ordinary 
college  tuition  at  Oxford,  is  about  sixteen  guineas  a  year." 
But  this  plausible  statement  may  deceive  a  reader  unacquaint 
ed  with  the  fact,  that  the  principal  teaching  relied  on  is  private 
tuition.  And  the  expenses  of  private  tuition  are  reckoned  at 
from  £  50  to  £  70  a  year,  or  $  1000  for  the  whole  course  of  three 
years  and  a  half.  At  Cambridge  $  750  a  year  is  economical, 
and  $  1500  not  extravagant.f 

The  number  of  students  and  of  residents,  the  dignity  of  the 
authorities,  the  value  of  the  foundations,  the  history  and  the 
architecture,  the  known  sympathy  of  entire  Britain  in  what  is 
done  there,  justify  a  dedication  to  study  in  the  undergraduate, 
such  as  cannot  easily  be  in  America,  where  his  college  is  half 
suspected  by  the  Freshman  to  be  insignificant  in  the  scale  be 
side  trade  and  politics.  Oxford  is  a  little  aristocracy  in  itself, 
numerous  and  dignified  enough  to  rank  with  other  estates  in 
the  realm ;  and  where  fame  and  secular  promotion  are  to  be 
had  for  study,  and  in  a  direction  which  has  the  unanimous 
respect  of  all  cultivated  nations. 

This  aristocracy,  of  course,  repairs  its  own  losses ;  fills  places, 

*  Hiiber,  II.  p.  304. 

t  Bristed,  Five  Years  at  an  English  Unirersity. 


UNIVERSITIES.  259 

as  they  fall  vacant,  from  the  body  of  students.  The  number 
of  fellowships  at  Oxford  is  640,  averaging  £  1*00  a  year,  with 
lodging  and  diet  at  the  college.  If  a  young  American,  loving 
lea i'n ing,  and  hindered  bv  povert  v,  were  offered  a  h<>mc,  a  table, 
the  walks,  and  the  library,  in  one  <if  these  academical  palaces, 
and  a  thousand  dollars  a  year  as  long  as  he  chose  to  remain 
a  bachelor,  he  would  dance  for  joy.  Yet  these  young  men  thus 
happily  placed,  and  paid  to  read,  are  impatient  of  their  few 
checks,  and  many  of  them  preparing  to  resign  their  fellowships. 
They  shuddered  at  the  prospect  of  dying  a  Fellow,  and  they 
pointed  out  to  me  a  paralytic  old  man,  who  was  assisted  into 
the  hall.  As  the  number  of  undergraduates  at  Oxford  is  only 
about  1  •_'<»()  or  1300,  and  many  of  these  are  never  competitors, 
the  chance  of  a  fellowship  is  very  great.  The  income  of  the 
nineteen  colleges  in  conjectured  at  £  150,000  a  year. 

The  effect  of  this  drill  is  the  radical  knowledge  of  Creek  and 
Latin,  and  of  mathematics,  and  the  solidity  and  taste  of  Eng 
lish  criticism.  Whatever  luck  there  may  be  in  this  or  that 
award,  an  Eton  captain  can  write  Latin  longs  and  shorts,  can 
turn  the  ( 'ourt -( Juidc  into  hexameters,  and  it  is  certain  that  a 
Senior  Classic  ean  <|iiote  correctly  from  the  Cor/Jttx  /%•////•////?, 
and  is  critically  learned  in  all  the  humanities.  Greek  erudition 
exists  on  the  Isis  and  Cam,  whether  the  Maud  man  or  the 
IJra/cn  Nose  man  be  properly  ranked  or  not;  the  atmosphere 
is  loaded  with  Creek  learning;  the  whole  river  has  reached  a 
certain  height,  and  kills  all  that  growth  of  weeds,  which  this 
C;i-r  tlian  water  kills.  The  English  nature  takes  culture  kindly. 
So  Milton  thought.  It  refines  the  Norseman.  Access  to  the 
Creek  mind  lifts  his  standard  of  taste.  He  has  enough  to 
think  of,  and,  unless  of  an  impulsive  nature,  is  indisposed  from 
writing  or  speaking,  by  the  fulness  of  his  mind,  and  the  new 
severity  of  his  taste.  The  great  silent  crowd  of  thorough-bred 
Civ.'Kins  always  known  to  be  around  him,  the  Knulish  writer 
cannot  ignore.  They  prune  his  orations,  and  point  his  pen. 
Hence,  the  style  and  tone  of  English  journalism.  The  men 
have  learned  accuracy  and  comprehension,  logic,  and  pace,  or 
speed  of  work  in  ir.  They  have  bottom,  endurance,  wind.  When 
born  with  good  constitutions,  they  make  those  eupeptic  study- 
iniMuills,  the  cast-iron  men,  the  Jnrn  ///</,  whose  powers  of 
performance  compare  with  ours,  as  the  steam  hammer  with  the 
music-box;  —  Cokes,  Mansfields,  Seldens,  and  Bentleys,  and 
when  it  happens  that  a  superior  brain  puts  a  rider  on  this 
aduflrable  horse,  we  obtain  those  masters  of  the  world  who 


260  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

combine  the  highest  energy  in  affairs,  with  a  supreme  cul 
ture.  • 

It  is  contended  by  those  who  have  been  bred  at  Eton,  Har 
row,  Rugby,  and  Westminster,  that  the  public  sentiment  with 
in  each  of  those  schools  is  high-toned  and  manly  ;  that,  in 
their  playgrounds,  courage  is  universally  admired,  meanness 
despised,  manly  feelings  and  generous  conduct  are  encouraged  : 
that  an  unwritten  code  of  honor  deals  to  the  spoiled  child  of 
rank  and  to  the  child  of  upstart  wealth  an  even-handed  jus 
tice,  purges  their  nonsense  out  of  both,  and  does  all  that  can 
be  done  to  make  them  gentlemen. 

Again,  at  the  universities,  it  is  urged,  that  all  goes  to  form 
what  England  values  as  the  flower  of  its  national  life,  —  a  well- 
educated  gentleman.  The  German  Huber,  in  describing  to  his 
countrymen  the  attributes  of  an  English  gentleman,  frankly 
admits,  that  "  in  Germany,  we  have  nothing  of  the  kind.  A 
gentleman  must  possess  a  political  character,  an  independent 
and  public  position,  or,  at  least,  the  right  of  assuming  it.  He 
rrmst  have  average  opulence,  either  of  his  own,  or  in  his  family. 
He  should  also  have  bodily  activity  and  strength,  unattainable 
by  our  sedentary  life  in  public  offices.  The  race  of  English 
gentlemen  presents  an  appearance  of  manly  vigor  and  form, 
not  elsewhere  to  be  found  among  an  equal  number  of  persons. 
No  other  nation  produces  the  stock.  And  in  England,  it  has 
deteriorated.  The  university  is  a  decided  presumption  in  any 
man's  favor.  And  so  eminent  are  the  members  that  a  glance 
at  the  calendars  will  show  that  in  all  the  world  one  cannot  be 
in  better  company  than  on  the  books  of  one  of  the  larger 
Oxford  or  Cambridge  colleges."  * 

These  seminaries  are  finishing  schools  for  the  upper  classes, 
and  not  for  the  poor.  The  useful  is  exploded.  The  definition 
of  a  public  school  is  "  a  school  which  excludes  all  that  could 
fit  a  man  for  standing  behind  a  counter."  f 

No  doubt,  the  foundations  have  been  perverted.  Oxford, 
which  equals  in  wealth  several  of  the  smaller  European  states, 
shuts  up  the  lectureships  which  were  made  "  public  for  all 
men  thereunto  to  have  concourse " ;  misspends  the  revenues 
bestowed  for  such  youths  "  as  should  be  most  meet  for  toward- 
ness,  poverty,  and  painfulness  "  ;  there  is  gross  favoritism  ; 
many  chairs  and  many  fellowships  are  made  beds  of  ease  ;  and 
't  is  likely  that  the  university  will  know  how  to  resist  and 

*  Huber,  History  of  the  English  Universities.     Newman's  Translation, 
f  See  Bristed,  Five  Years  in  an  English  University.    New  York,  1852. 


UNIVERSITIES.  2G1 

make  inoperative  the  terrors  of  parliamentary  inquiry;  no 
doubt,  their  learning  is  urown  obsolete  ;  —  but  Oxford  also  has 
its  merits,  and  1  found  here  also  proof  of  the  national  fidelity 
and  thoroughness.  Such  knowledge  as  they  prize  they]" 
and  impart.  Whether  in  course  or  by  indirection,  whether  by 
a  cramming  tutor  or  by  examiners  with  prizes  and  foundation 
scholar-hips,  education  according  to  the  English  notion  of  it  is 
arrived  at.  1  looked  over  the  Examination  Papers  of  the  year 
1848,  for  the  various  scholarships  and  fellowships,  the  Lusby, 
the  Hertford,  the  Dean-Ireland,  and  the  I'niversity  (copies  of 
which  were  kindly  given  me  by  a  Greek  professor),  containing 
the  tasks  which  many  competitors  had  victoriously  performed, 
and  I  believed  they  would  prove  too  severe  tests  for  the  candi 
dates  f<»r  a  Bachelor's  degree  in  Yale  or  Harvard.  And,  in 
general,  here  was  proof  of  a  more  searching  study  in  the  ap 
pointed  directions,  and  the  knowledge  pretended  to  be  con 
veyed  was  conveyed.  Oxford  sends  out  yearly  twenty  or  thirty 
very  able  men,  and  three  or  four  hundred  well-educated  men. 

The  diet  and  rough  exercise  secure  a  certain  amount  of  old 
power.  A  fop  will  light,  and,  in  exigent  circumstances, 
will  play  the  manly  part.  In  seeing  these  youths,  I  believed 
1  saw  already  an  advantage  in  vigor  and  color  and  general  hab 
it,  over  their  contemporaries  in  the  American  colleges.  No 
doubt  much  of  the  power  and  brilliancy  of  the  reading-men  is 
merelv  constitutional  or  hygienic.  With  a  hardier  habit  and 
resolute  gymnastics,  with  rive  miles  more  walking,  or  five 
ounces  less  eating,  or  with  a  saddle  and  gallop  of  twenty  miles 
a  day,  with  skating  and  rowing-matches,  the  American  would 
arrive  at  as  robust  exegesis,  and  cheery  and  hilarious  tone.  I 
should  readily  concede  these  advantages,  which  it  would  be 
easv  to  acquire,  if  I  did  not  find  also  that  they  read  better 
than  we,  and  write  better. 

English  wealth  falling  on  their  school  and  university  train 
ing,  makes  a  systematic  reading  of  the  best  authors,  and  to  the 
end  of  a  knowledge  how  the  things  whereof  they  treat  really 
stand  :  whilst  pamphleteer  or  journalist  reading  for  an  argu 
ment  for  a  party,  or  reading  to  write,  or,  at  all  events,  for  some 
by-end  imposed  on  them,  must  read  meanly  and  fragment arily. 
Charles  1.  said,  that  lie  understood  English  law  as  well  as  a 
gentleman  ought  to  understand  it. 

Then  they  have  access  to  books  :  the  rich  libraries  collected 
at  every  one  of  many  thousands  of  houses,  give  an  advantage 
not  to  be  attained  by  a  youth  in  this  country,  when  one  thinks 


262  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

how  much  more  and  better  may  be  learned  by  a  scholar,  who, 
immediately  on  hearing  of  a  book,  can  consult  it,  than  by  one 
who  is  on  the  quest,  for  years,  and  reads  inferior  books,  be 
cause  he  cannot  find  the  best. 

Again,  the  great  number  of  cultivated  men  keep  each  other 
up  to  a  high  standard.  The  habit  of  meeting  well-read  and 
knowing  men  teaches  the  art  of  omission  and  selection. 

Universities  are,  of  course,  hostile  to  geniuses,  which  seeing 
and  using  ways  of  their  own,  discredit  the  routine  :  as  churches 
and  monasteries  persecute  youthful  saints.  Yet  we  all  send 
our  sons  to  college,  and,  though  he  be  a  genius,  he  must  take 
his  chance.  The  university  must  be  retrospective.  The  gale 
that  gives  direction  to  the  vanes  on  all  its  towers  blows  out 
of  antiquity.  Oxford  is  a  library,  and  the  professors  must  be 
librarians.  And  I  should  as  soon  think  of  quarrelling  with 
the  janitor  for  not  magnifying  his  office  by  hostile  sallies  into 
the  street,  like  the  Governor  of  Kertch  or  Kinburn,  as  of 
quarrelling  with  the  professors  for  not  admiring  the  young 
neologists  who  pluck  the  beards  of  Euclid  and  Aristotle,  or 
for  not  attempting  themselves  to  fill  their  vacant  shelves  as 
original  writers. 

It  is  easy  to  carp  at  colleges,  and  the  college,  if  we  will  wait 
for  it,  will  have  its  own  turn.  Genius  exists  there  also,  but 
will  not  answer  a  call  of  a  committee  of  the  House  of  Com 
mons.  It  is  rare,  precarious,  eccentric,  and  darkling.  Eng 
land  is  the  land  of  mixture  and  surprise,  and  when  you  have 
settled  it  that  the  universities  are  moribund,  out  comes  a 
poetic  influence  from  the  heart  of  Oxford,  to  mould  the  opin 
ions  of  cities,  to  build  their  houses  as  simply  as  birds  their 
nests,  to  give  veracity  to  art,  and  charm  mankind,  as  an  ap 
peal  to  moral  order  always  must.  But  besides  this  restorative 
genius,  the  best  poetry  of  England  of  this  age,  in  the  old 
forms,  comes  from  two  graduates  of  Cambridge. 


RELIGION.  263 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

RELIGION. 

NO  people,  at  the  present  day,  can  be  explained  by  their 
national  religion.  They  do  not  feel  responsible  for  it ; 
it  lies  far  outside  of  them.  Their  loyalty  to  truth,  and  their 
labor  and  expenditure  rest  on  real  foundations,  and  not  on  a 
national  church.  And  Knglish  life,  it  is  evident,  does  not 
grow  out  of  the  Athanasian  creed,  or  the  Articles,  or  the 
Kucharisr.  It  is  with  religion  as  with  marriage.  A  youth 
marries  in  haste  ;  afterwards,  when  his  mind  is  opened  to  the 
rcMsmi  of  the  conduct  of  life,  he  is  asked,  what  he  thinks  of 
the  institution  of  marriage,  and  of  the  right  relations  of  the 
II  '1  should  have  much  to  say,'  he  might  reply,  'if  the 
question  were  open,  but  I  have  a  wife  and  children,  and  all 
question  is  rinsed  for  me.'  In  the  barbarous  days  of  a  nation, 
some  cultus  is  formed  or  imported  ;  altars  are  built,  tithes  are 
paid,  priests  ordained.  The  education  and  expenditure  of  the 
country  take  that  direction,  and  when  wealth,  refinement, 
great  men,  and  ties  to  the  world,  supervene,  its  prudent  men 
say,  why  tight  against  Fate,  or  lift  these  absurdities  which  are 
now  mountainous  ?  Better  find  some  niche  or  crevice  in  this 
mountain  of  stone  which  religious  ages  have  quarried  and 
carved,  wherein  to  bestow  yourself,  than  attempt  anything 
ridiculously  and  dangerously  above  your  strength,  like  remov 
ing  it. 

In  seeing  old  castles  and  cathedrals,  I  sometimes  say,  as  to 
day,  in  front  of  Dundee  Church  tower,  which  is  eight  hundred 
years  old,  '  this  was  built  by  another  and  a  better  race  than 
any  that  now  look  on  it.'  And,  plainly,  there  has  bi-i-n  Liivat 
power  of  sentiment  at  work  in  this  island,  of  which  tin-so 
buildings  are  the  proofs  :  as  volcanic  basalts  show  the  work 
of  fire  which  has  been  extinguished  for  ages.  Kniriand  felt 
the  full  heat  of  the  Christianity  which  fermented  Kurope.  and 
drew,  like  the  chemistry  of  lire,  a  firm  line  between  barbarism 
ynd  culture.  The  power  of  the  religious  sentiment  put  an 
end  to  human  sacrifices,  checked  appetit".  inspired  the  cru 
sades,  inspired  resistance  to  tyrants,  inspired  seli'i 
bounds  to  serfdom  and  slavery,  founded  liberty,  created  the 


264  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

religious  architecture,  —  York,  Newstead,  Westminster,  Foun 
tains  Abbey,  Ripon,  Beverley,  and  Dundee,  —  works  to  which 
the  key  is  lost,  with  the  sentiment  which  created  them  ;  in 
spired  the  English  Bible,  the  liturgy,  the  monkish  histories, 
the  chronicle  of  Richard  of  Devizes.  The  priest  translated 
the  Vulgate,  and  translated  the  sanctities  of  old  hagiology 
into  English  virtues  on  English  ground.  It  was  a  certain 
affirmative  or  aggressive  state  of  the  Caucasian  races.  Man 
awoke  refreshed  by  the  sleep  of  ages.  The  violence  of  the 
northern  savages  exasperated  Christianity  into  power.  It 
lived  by  the  love  of  the  people.  Bishop  AVilfrid  manumitted 
two  hundred  and  fifty  serfs,  whom  he  found  attached  to  the 
soil.  The  clergy  obtained  respite  from  labor  for  the  boor  on 
the  Sabbath,  and  on  church  festivals.  "  The  lord  who  com 
pelled  his  boor  to  labor  between  sunset  on  Saturday  and  sun 
set  on  Sunday,  forfeited  him  altogether."  The  priest  came 
out  of  the  people,  and  sympathized  with  his  class.  The 
church  was  the  mediator,  check,  and  democratic  principle  in 
Europe.  Latimer,  Wicliffe,  Arundel,  Cobham,  Antony  Par 
sons,  Sir  Harry  Vane,  George  Fox,  Penn,  Bunyan,  are  the 
democrats,  as  well  as  the  saints  of  their  times.  The  Catholic 
Church,  thrown  on  this  toiling,  serious  people,  has  made  in 
fourteen  centuries  a  massive  system,  close  fitted  to  the  man 
ners  and  genius  of  the  country,  at  once  domestical  and  stately. 
In  the  long  time,  it  has  blended  with  everything  in  heaven 
above  and  the  earth  beneath.  It  moves  through  a  zodiac  of 
feasts  and  fasts,  names  every  day  of  the  year,  every  town  and 
market  and  headland  and  monument,  and  has  coupled  itself 
with  the  almanac,  that  no  court  can  be  held,  no  field  ploughed, 
no  horse  shod,  without  some  leave  from  the  church.  All  max 
ims  of  prudence  or  shop  or  farm  are  fixed  and  dated  by  the 
church.  Hence,  its  strength  in  the  agricultural  districts. 
The  distribution  of  land  into  parishes  enforces  a  church  sanc 
tion  to  every  civil  privilege  ;  and  the  gradation  of  the  clergy, 
• —  prelates  for  the  rich,  and  curates  for  the  poor,  —  with  the 
fact  that  a  classical  education  has  been  secured  to  the  clergy 
man,  makes  them  "the  link  which  unites  the  sequestered 
peasantry  with  the  intellectual  advancement  of  the  age."  * 

The  English  Church  has  many  certificates  to  show,  of  hum 
ble  effective  service  in  humanizing  the  people,  in  cheering 
and  refining  men,  feeding,  healing,  and  educating.  It  has  the 
seal  of  martyrs  and  confessors  ;  the  noblest  books ;  a  sublime 

*  Wordsworth. 


III.LKilON.  265 

architecture  ;  a  ritual  marked  by  the  same  secular  merits, 
nothing  cheap  ««r  purchasiblo. 

Erom  this  sic,  \\-ro\\  n  church  important  reactions  proceed; 
much  for  culture,  much  for  giving  a  direction  to  the  nation's 
a  Meet  ion  and  \vill  to-day.  Tin-  carved  and  pictured  chapel  — 
its  entire  surface  animated  with  imaue  and  emblem — made 
the  parish-church  a  sort  of  book  and  liible  to  the  people's  eye. 

Then,  when  the  Saxon  instinct  had  secured  a  service  in  the 
vernacular  tongue,  it  was  the  tutor  and  university  of  the  people. 
In  York  minster,  on  the  day  of  the  cnthronizatiou  of  the  new 
archbishop,  1  heard  the  service  of  evening  prayer  read  and 
chanted  in  the  choir.  It  was  strange  to  IK  ar  the  pretty  pastoral 
of  the  betrothal  of  Uebecca  and  Isaac,  in  the  morning  of  the 
world,  read  with  circumstantiality  in  York  minster,  on  the  13th 
January,  1848,  to  the  decorous  English  audience,  just  fresh 
fr«>m  the  Times  newspaper  and  their  wine  ;  and  listening  with 
all  the  devotion  of  national  pride.  That  was  binding  old  and 
new  to  seme  purpose.  The  reverence  for  the  Scriptures  is  an 
element  of  civilization,  for  thus  has  the  history  of  the  world 
been  preserved,  and  is  preserved.  Here  in  England  every  day 
a  chapter  of  Genesis,  and  a  leader  in  the  Times. 

Another  part  of  the  same  service  on  this  occasion  was  not 
insignificant.  Handel's  coronation  anthem.  Hn<l  sure  the,  Kinff, 
Was  played  by  Dr.  Camidge  on  the  organ,  with  sublime  effect. 
The  minster  and  the  music  were  made  for  each  other.  It  was 
a  hint  of  the  part  the  church  plays  as  a  political  engine. 
From  his  infancy,  every  Englishman  is  accustomed  to  hear 
daily  prayers  for  the  <|ueen,  for  the  royal  family,  and  the  Par 
liament,  i>y  name  ;  and  this  life-long  consecration  of  these  per 
sonages  cannot  be-  without  influence  on  his  opinions. 

The  universities,  also,  are  parcel  of  the  ecclesiastical  system, 
and  their  first  design  is  to  form  the  clergy.  Thus  the  clergy 
for  a  thousand  years  have  been  the  scholar's  of  the  nation. 

The  national  temperament  deeply  enjoys  the  unbroken  order 
and  tradition  of  its  church  ;  the  liturgy,  ceremony,  architec 
ture  :  the  sober  -'race,  the  Li<>od  company,  the  connection  with 
the  throne,  and  with  historv,  which  adom  it.  And  whilst  it 
endears  itself  thus  t<>  men  of  more  taste  than  activity,  the  sta 
bility  of  the  English  nation  is  passionately  enlisted  to  its  sup 
port,  from  its  inextricable  connection  with  the  cause  of  public 
order,  with  politics  and  with  the  funds.  ^  ""?— *^ 

Good  churches  are  not  built  by  bad  mei^S  $£st  Uftfift/f  ^S 


UNIVERSITY 


26G  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

must  be  probity  and  enthusiasm  somewhere  in  society.  These 
minsters  were  neither  built  nor  filled  by  atheists.  No  church 
has  had  more  learned,  industrious,  or  devoted  men ;  plenty  of 
"clerks  and  bishops,  who,  out  of  their  gowns,  would  turn  their 
backs  on  no  man."*  Their  architecture  still  glows  with  faith 
in  immortality.  Heats  and  genial  periods  arrive  in  history, 
or,  shall  we  say,  plenitudes  of  Divine  Presence,  by  which  high 
tides  are  caused  in  the  human  spirit,  and  great  virtues  and 
talents  appear,  as  in  the  eleventh,  twelfth,  thirteenth,  and 
again  in  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries,  when  the 
nation  was  full  of  genius  and  piety. 

But  the  age  of  the  Wicliffes,  Cobhams,  Arundels,  Beckets  ; 
of  the  Lat  iiners,  Mores,  Cranmers  ;  of  the  Taylors,  Leigh  tons, 
Herberts  ;  of  the  Sherlocks,  and  Butlers,  is  gone.  Silent  revo 
lutions  in  opinion  have  made  it  impossible  that  men  like  these 
should  return  or  find  a  place  in  their  once  sacred  stalls.  The 
spirit  that  dwelt  in  this  church  has  glided  away  to  animate 
other  activities  ;  and  they  who  come  to  the  old  shrines  find 
apes  and  players  rustling  the  old  garments. 

The  religion  of  England  is  part  of  good  breeding.  When 
you  see  on  the  Continent  the  well-dressed  Englishman  come 
into  his  ambassador's  chapel,  and  put  his  face  for  silent  prayer 
into  his  smooth-brushed  hat,  one  cannot  help  feeling  how  much 
national  pride  prays  with  him,  and  the  religion  of  a  gentleman. 
So  far  is  he  from  attaching  any  meaning  to  the  words,  that  ho 
believes  himself  to  have  done  almost  the  generous  thing,  and 
that  it  is  very  condescending  in  him  to  pray  to  God.  A  great 
duke  said  on  the  occasion  of  a  victory,  in  the  House  of  Lords^ 
that  he  thought  the  Almighty  God  had  not  been  well  used  by 
them,  and  that  it  would  become  their  magnanimity,  after  so 
great  successes,  to  take  order  that  a  prope?  acknowledgment 
be  made.  It  is  the  church  of  the  gentry  ;  but  it  is  not  the 
church  of  the  poor.  The  operatives  do  not  own  it,  and  gen 
tlemen  lately  testified  in  the  House  of  Commons  that  in  their 
lives  they  never  saw  a  poor  man  in  a  ragged  coat  inside  a 
church. 

The  torpidity  on  the  side  of  religion  of  the  vigorous  English 
understanding  shows  how  much  wit  and  folly  can  agree  in 
one  brain.  Their  religion  is  a  quotation  ;  their  church  is  a 
'doll ;  and  any  examination  is  interdicted  with  screams  of  ter 
ror.  In  good  company,  you  expect  them  to  laugh  at  the 
fanaticism  of  the  vulgar ;  but  they  do  not ;  they  ar*  the 
vulgar. 

*  Fuller. 


RELIGION.  267 

The  English,  in  common  perhaps  with  Christendom  in  the 
nineteenth  century,  do  not  respect  power,  but  only  perform 
ance  ;  value  ideas  only  for  an  economic  result.  Wellington 
esteems  a  saint  only  as  for  as  he  can  be  an  army  chaplain  : 
"  Mr.  Briscoll,  by  his  admirable  conduct  and  good  sense,  got  the 
better  of  Methodism,  which  had  appeared  among  the  soldiers, 
and  once  among  the  officers."  They  value  a  philosopher  as 
thev  value  an  apothecary  who  brings  bark  or  a  drench  ;  and 
inspiration  is  only  some  blowpipe,  or  a  finer  mechanical 
aid. 

I  suspect  that  there  is  in  an  Englishman's  brain  a  valve  that 
can  be  closed  at  pleasure,  as  an  engineer  shuts  off  steam.  The 
most  sensible  and  well-informed  men  possess  the  power  of 
thinking  just  so  far  as  the  bishop  in  religious  matters,  and  ag 
the  chancellor  of  the  exchequer  in  politics.  They  talk  with 
courage  and  logic,  and  show  you  magnificent  results,  but  tho 
same  men  who  have  brought  free  trade  or  geology  to  their 
present  standing,  look  grave  and  lofty,  and  shut  down  their 
valve,  as  soon  as  the  conversation  approaches  the  English 
Church.  After  that,  you  talk  with  a  box-turtle. 

The  action  of  the  university,  both  in  what  is  taught,  and  in 
the  spirit  of  the  place,  is  directed  more  on  producing  an  Eng 
lish  gentleman,  than  a  saint  or  a  psychologist.  It  ripens  a 
bishop,  and  extrudes  a  philosopher.  I  do  not  know  that  there 
is  more  cabalism  in  the  Anglican,  than  in  other  churches,  but 
the  Anglican  clergy  are  identified  with  the  aristocracy.  They 
say,  here,  that,  if  you  talk  with  a  clergyman,  you  are  sure  to 
find  him  well  bred,  informed,  and  candid.  He  entertains  your 
thought  or  your  project  with  sympathy  and  praise.  But  if  a 
second  clergyman  come  in,  the  sympathy  is  at  an  end  :  two 
together  are  inaccessible  to  your  thought,  and,  whenever  it 
comes  to  action,  the  clergyman  invariably  sides  with  his 
church. 

The  Anglican  church  is  marked  by  the  grace  and  good  sense 
of  its  forms,  by  the  manly  grace  of  its  clergy.  The  gospel  it 
preaches  is,  '  By  taste  are  ye  saved.'  It  keeps  the  old  struc^ 
tures  in  repair,  spends  a  world  of  money  in  music  and  build 
ing  ;  and  in  buying  Puirin,  and  architectural  literature.  It  has 
a  general  good  name  l«>r  amenity  and  mildness.  It  is  not  in 
ordinary  a  persecuting  church  ;  it  is  not  inquisitorial,  not 
even  inquisitive,  is  perfectly  well  bred,  and  can  shut  its  eyes 
on  all  proper  occasions.  If  you  let  it  alone,  it  will  let  you 
alone.  But  its  instinct  is  hostile  to  all  change  in  politics, 


268  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

literature,  or  social  arts.  The  church  has  not  been  the  founder 
of  the  London  University  of  the  Mechanics'  Institutes,  of  the 
Free  School,  or  whatever  aims  at  diffusion  of  knowledge.  The 
Platonists  of  Oxford  are  as  bitter  against  this  heresy,  as  Thomas 
Taylor. 

The  doctrine  of  the  Old  Testament  is  the  religion  of  Eng 
land.  The  first  leaf  of  the  New  Testament  it  does  not  open. 
It  believes  in  a  Providence  which  does  not  treat  with  levity 
a  pound  sterling.  They  are  neither  transcendentalists  nor 
Christians.  They  put  up  no  Socratic  prayer,  much  less  any 
saintly  prayer  for  the  queen's  mind  ;  ask  neither  for  light  nor 
right,  but  say  bluntly,  "  Grant  her  in  health  and  wealth  long 
to  live."  And  one  traces  this  Jewish  prayer  in  all  English 
private  history,  from  the  prayers  of  King  Richard,  in  Richard 
of  Devizes'  Chronicle,  to  those  in  the  diaries  of  Sir  Samuel 
Romilly,  and  of  Haydon  the  painter.  "  Abroad  with  my  wife," 
writes  Pepys  piously,  "  the  first  time  that  ever  I  rode  in  my 
own  coach  ;  which  do  make  my  heart  rejoice  and  praise  God, 
and  pray  him  to  bless  it  to  me,  and  continue  it."  The  bill  for 
the  naturalization  of  the  Jews  (in  1753)  was  resisted  by  peti 
tions  from  all  parts  of  the  kingdom,  and  by  petition  from  the 
city  of  London,  reprobating  this  bill,  as  "  tending  extremely  to 
the  dishonor  of  the  Christian  religion,  and  extremely  injurious 
to  the  interests  and  commerce  of  the  kingdom  in  general,  and 
of  the  city  of  London  in  particular." 

But  they  have  not  been  able  to  congeal  humanity  by  act  of 
Parliament.  "  The  heavens  journey  still  and  sojourn  not," 
and  arts,  wars,  discoveries,  and  opinion  go  onward  at  their 
own  pace.  The  new  age  has  new  desires,  new  enemies,  new 
trades,  new  charities,  and  reads  the  Scriptures  with  new  eyes. 
The  chatter  of  French  politics,  the  steam-whistle,  the  hum  of 
the  mill,  and  the  noise  of  embarking  emigrants,  had  quite  put 
most  of  the  old  legends  out  of  mind  ;  so  that  when  you  came 
to  read  the  liturgy  to  a  modern  congregation,  it  was  almost 
absurd  in  its  unfitness,  and  suggested  a  masquerade  of  old 
costumes. 

No  chemist  has  prospered  in  the  attempt  to  crystallize  a 
religion.  It  is  endogenous,  like  the  skin,  and  other  vital 
organs.  A  new  statement  every  day.  The  prophet  and 
apostle  knew  this,  and  the  nonconformist  confutes  the  con 
formists,  by  quoting  the  texts  they  must  allow.  It  is  the  con 
dition  of  a  religion,  to  require  religion  for  its  expositor. 
Prophet  and  apostle  can  only  be  rightly  understood  by  prophei 


RELIGION.  269 

and  apostle  The  statesman  knows  that  the  religious  element 
will  not  tail,  any  more  than  the  supply  of  fibrine  and  chyle  ; 
but  it  is  in  its  nature  constructive,  and  will  organi/e  such  a 
church  as  it  wants.  The  wise  legislator  will  spend  on  temples, 
schools,  libraries,  colleges,  but  will  shun  the  enriching  of 
priests.  If,  in  any  manner,  he  can  leave  the  election  and  pay- 
in_r  of  the  priest  ^to  the  people,  he  will  do  well.  Like  the 
(Quakers,  he  may  resist  the  separation  of  a  class  of  priests,  and 
ereare  opportunity  and  expectation  in  the  society,  to  run  to 
meet  natural  endowment,  in  this  kind.  But,  when  wealth 
accrues  to  a  chaplaincy,  a  bishopric,  or  rectorship,  it  requires 
iiK-neyed  men  for  its  stewards,  who  will  give  it  another  direc 
tion  than  to  the  mystics  of  their  day.  Of  course,  money  will 
d&  after  its  kind,  and  will  steadily  work  to  unspiritualizc  and 
unchurch  the  people  to  whom  it  was  bequeathed.  The  class 
certain  to  be  excluded  from  all  preferment  are  the  religious,  — 
and  driven  to  other  churches  ;  —  which  is  nature's  vis  medi- 


The  curates  are  ill  paid,  and  the  prelates  are  overpaid.  This 
abuse  draws  into  the  church  the  children  of  the  nobility,  and 
other  unfit  persons,  who  have  a  taste  for  expense.  Thus  a 
bishop  is  only  a  surpliced  merchant.  Through  his  lawn,  I  can 
see  the  bright  buttons  of  the  shopman's  coat  glitter.  A 
wealth  like  that  of  Durham  makes  almost  a  premium  on  felony. 
Brougham,  in  a  speech  in  the  House  of  Commons  on  the  Irish 
elective  franchise,  said,  "  How  will  the  reverend  bishops  of  the 
other  house  be  able  to  express  their  due  abhorrence  of  the 
crime  of  perjury,  who  solemnly  declare  in  the  presence  of  God, 
that  when  they  are  called  upon  to  accept  a  living,  perhaps  of 
£  loot)  a  year,  at  that  very  instant,  they  are  moved  by  the 
Holy  Ghost  to  accept  the  office  and  administration  thereof,  and 
for  no  other  reason  whatever]"  The  modes  of  initiation  are 
more  damaging  than  custom-house  oaths.  The  Bishop  is 
eK-iTi-d  by  the  Dean  and  I  Vebends  of  the  cathedral.  The  Queen 
sends  these  gentlemen  a  conye  cTc'lire,  or  leave  to  elect  ;  but 
also  sends  tin-in  the  name  of  the  person  whom  they  are  to  elect. 
They  LCO  into  the  cathedral,  chant  and  pray,  and  beseech  the 
Holy  Ghost  to  assist  them  in  their  choice  ;  and,  after  these  in 
vocations.  invariably  find  that  the  dictates  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
agree  with  the  recommendations  of  the  Queen. 

But  you  must  pay  for  conformity.  All  goes  well  as  lon-_r  as; 
you  run  with  conformists.  But  you,  who  arc  honest  man  in 
other  particulars,  know,  that  there  is  alive  somewhere  a  man 


270  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

whose  honesty  reaches  to  this  point  also,  that  he  shall  not 
kneel  to  false  gods,  and,  on  the  day  when  you  meet  him,  you 
sink  into  the  class  of  counterfeits.  Besides,  this  succumbing 
has  grave  penalties.  If  you  take  in  a  lie,  you  must  take  in  all 
that  belongs  to  it.  England  accepts  this  ornamented  national 
church,  and  it  glazes  the  eyes,  bloats  the  flesh,  gives  the  voice 
a  stertorous  clang,  and  clouds  the  understanding  of  the  re 
ceivers. 

The  English  Church,  undermined  by  German  criticism,  had 
nothing  left  but  tradition,  and  was  led  logically  back  to  Roman 
ism.  But  that  was  an  element  which  only  hot  heads  could 
breathe  :  in  view  of  the  educated  class,  generally,  it  was  not  a 
fact  to  front  the  sun  ;  and  the  alienation  of  such  men  from  the 
church  became  complete. 

Nature,  to  be  sure,  had  her  remedy.  Religious  persons  are 
driven  out  of  the  Established  Church  into  sects,  which  in 
stantly  rise  to  credit,  and  hold  the  Establishment  in  check. 
Nature  has  sharper  remedies,  also.  The  English,  abhorring 
change  in  all  things,  abhorring  it  most  in  matters  of  religion, 
cling  to  the  last  rag  of  form,  and  are  dreadfully  given  to  cant. 
The  English  (and  I  wish  it  were  confined  to  them,  but  't  is  a 
taint  in  the  Anglo-Saxon  blood  in  both  hemispheres),  the  Eng 
lish  and  the  Americans  cant  beyond  all  other  nations.  The 
French  relinquish  all  that  industry  to  them.  What  is  so 
odious  as  the  polite  bows  to  God,  in  our  books  and  newspapers] 
The  popular  press  is  flagitious  in  the  exact  measure  of  its  sancti 
mony,  and  the  religion  of  the  day  is  a  theatrical  Sinai,  where 
the  thunders  are  supplied  by  the  property-man.  The  fanati 
cism  and  hypocrisy  create  satire.  Punch  finds  an  inexhaustible 
material.  Dickens  writes  novels  on  Exeter  Hall  humanity. 
Thackeray  exposes  the  heartless  high  life.  Nature  revenges 
herself  more  summarily  by  the  heathenism  of  the  lower  classes. 
Lord  Shaftesbury  calls  the  poor  thieves  together,  and  reads 
sermons  to  them,  and  they  call  it  '  gas.'  George  Borrow  sum 
mons  the  Gypsies  to  hear  his  discourse  on  the  Hebrews  in 
Egypt,  and  reads  to  them  the  Apostles'  Creed  in  Romany. 
"  When  I  had  concluded,"  he  says,  "  I  looked  around  me.  The 
features  of  the  assembly  were  twisted,  and  the  eyes  of  all 
turned  upon  me  with  a  frightful  squint  :  not  an  individual 
present  but  squinted ;  the  genteel  Pepa,  the  good-humored 
Chicharona,  the  Cosdami,  all  squinted  :  the  Gypsy  jockey 
squinted  worst  of  all." 

The  church  at  this  moment  is  much  to  be  pitied.     She  has 


LITERATURE.  271 

nothing  left  but  possession.  If  a  bishop  meets  an  intelligent 
gentleman,  and  reads  fatal  interrogations  in  his  eyes,  he  has  no 
resource  but  to  take  wine  with  him.  False  position  introduces 
cant,  perjury,  simony,  and  ever  a  lower  class  of  mind  and 
character  into  the  clergy  :  and,  when  the  hierarchy  is  afraid  of 
science  and  education,  afraid  of  piety,  afraid  of  tradition,  and 
afraid  of  theology,  there  is  nothing  left  but  to  quit  a  church 
which  is  no  longer  one. 

But  the  religion  of  England,  —  is  it  the  Established  Church  1 
no  ;  is  it  the  sects  I  no ;  they  are  only  perpetuations  of  some 
private  man's  dissent,  and  are  to  the  Established  Church  as 
calis  are  to  a  coach,  cheaper  and  more  convenient,  but  really 
the  same  thing.  Where  dwells  the  religion  1  Tell  me  first 
where  dwells  electricity,  or  motion,  or  thought  or  gesture. 
They  do  not  dwell  or  stay  at  all.  Electricity  cannot  be  made 
fast,  mortared  up  and  ended,  like  London  .Monument,  or  the 
Tower,  so  that  you  shall  know  where  to  find  it,  and  keep  it 
fixed,  as  the  English  do  with  their  things,  forevermore  ;  it  is 
passing,  glancing,  gesticnlar  ;  it,  is  a  traveller,  a  newness,  a 
surprise,  a  secret,  which  perplexes  them,  and  puts  them  out. 
Yet.  if  religion  l>e  the  doing  of  all  good,  and  for  its  sake  the 
Buttering  of  all  evil,  *<,,///"/•//•  J?  tout  le  monde  et  ne  faire  sonffrir 
•///<>,  that  divine  secret  has  existed  in  England  from  the 
days  of  Alfred  to  those  of  Romilly,  of  Clarkson,  and  of  Flor 
ence  Nightingale,  and  in  thousands  who  have  no  fame. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

LITERATURE. 

A  STRONG  common  sense,  which  it  is  not  easy  to  unseat 
or  disturb,  marks  the  English  mind  for  a  thousand 
years  :  a  rude  strength  newly  applied  to  thought,  as  of  sailors 
and  soldiers  who  had  lately  learned  to  read.  They  have  no 
fancy,  and  never  are  surprised  into  a  covert  or  witty  word, 
such  as  pleased  the  Athenians  and  Italians,  and  was  convertible 
into  a  fable  not  long  after  ;  but  they  delight  in  strong  earthy 
expression,  not  mislakable,  coarsely  true  to  the  human  body, 
and,  though  spoken  among  princes,  equally  fit  and  welcome  to 
the  mob.  This  homeliness,  veracity,  and  plain  style  appear 


272  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

in  the  earliest  extant  works,  and  in  the  latest.  It  imports 
into  songs  and  ballads  the  smell  of  the  earth,  the  breath  of 
cattle,  and,  like  a  Dutch  painter,  seeks  a  household  charm, 
though  by  pails  and  pans.  They  ask  their  constitutional 
utility  in  verse.  The  kail  and  herrings  are  never  out  of  sight. 
The  poet  nimbly  recovers  himself  from  every  sally  of  the 
imagination.  The  English  muse  loves  the  farnvyard,  the  lane 
and  market.  She  says,  with  De  Stael,  "  I  tramp  in  the  mire 
with  wooden  shoes,  whenever  they  would  force  me  into  the 
clouds."  For,  the  Englishman  has  accurate  perceptions ; 
takes  hold  of  things  by  the  right  end,  and  there  is  no  slip- 
.periness  in  his  grasp.  He  loves  the  axe,  the  spade,  the  oar, 
the  gun,  the  steam-pipe  :  he  has  built  the  engine  he  uses.  He 
is  materialist,  economical,  mercantile.  He  must  be  treated 
with  sincerity  and  reality,  with  muffins  and  not  the  promise 
of  muffins  ;  and  prefers  his  hot  chop,  with  perfect  security 
and  convenience  in  the  eating  of  it,  to  the  chances  of  the 
amplest  and  Frencliiest  bill  of  fare,  engraved  on  embossed  pa 
per.  When  he  is  intellectual,  and  a  poet  or  a  philosopher,  he 
carries  the  same  hard  truth  and  the  same  keen  machinery  into 
the  mental  sphere.  His  mind  must  stand  on  a  fact.  He  wil) 
not  be  baffled,  or  catch  at  clouds,  but  the  mind  must  have  a 
symbol  palpable  and  resisting.  What  he  relishes  in  Dante,  is 
the  vice-like  tenacity  with  which  he  holds  a  mental  image  be 
fore  the  eyes,  as  if  it  were  a  scutcheon  painted  on  a  shield. 
Byron  "  liked  something  craggy  to  break  his  mind  upon."  A 
taste  for  plain  strong  speech,  what  is  called  a  biblical  style, 
marks  the  English.  It  is  in  Alfred,  and  the  Saxon  Chronicle, 
and  in  the  Sagas  of  the  Northmen.  Latimer  was  homely. 
Hobbes  was  perfect  in  the  "noble  vulgar  speech."  Donne, 
Bunyan,  Milton,  Taylor,  Evelyn,  Pepys,  Hooker,  Cotton,  and 
the  translators,  wrote  it.  How  realistic  or  materialistic  in 
treatment  of  his  subject  is  Swift.  He  describes  his  fictitious 
persons  as  if  for  the  police.  Defoe  has  no  insecurity  or  choice. 
Hudibras  has  the  same  hard  mentality,  —  keeping  the  truth 
at  once  to  the  senses,  and  to  the  intellect. 

It  is  not  less  seen  in  poetry.  Chaucer's  hard  painting  of 
his  Canterbury  pilgrims  satisfies  the  senses.  Shakespeare, 
Spenser,  and  Milton,  in  their  loftiest  ascents,  have  this  na 
tional  grip  and  exactitude  of  mind.  This  mental  materialism 
makes  the  value  of  English  transcendental  genius  ;  in  these 
writers,  and  in  Herbert,  Henry  More,  Donne,  and  Sir  Thomas 
Browne.  The  Saxon  materialism  and  narrowness,  exalted  into 


LITERATURE.  273 

the  sphere  of  intellect,  makes  the  very  genius  of  Shakespeare 
and  Milton.  When  it  reaches  the  pure  element,  it  treads  the 
clouds  as  securely  as  the  adamant.  Even  in  its  elevations, 
materialistic,  its  p<>*try  is  common  sense  inspired;  or  iron 
raised  to  white  heat. 

The  marriage  of  the  two  qualities  is  in  their  speech.  It  is 
a  tacit  rule  of  the  language  to  make  the  frame  or  skeleton,  of 
Saxon  words,  and,  when  elevation  or  ornament  is  sought,  to 
interweave  Roman  ;  but  sparingly ;  nor  is  a  sentence  made  of 
Koman  words  alone,  without  loss  of  strength.  The  children 
and  laborers  use  the  Saxon  unmixed.  The  Latin  unmixed  is 
Abandoned  to  the  colleges  and  Parliament.  Mixture  is  a  se- 
cret  of  the  English  island  ;  and,  in  their  dialect,  the  male  prin 
ciple  is  the  Saxon ;  the  female,  the  Latin  ;  and  they  arc  com 
bined  in  every  discourse.  A  good  writer,  if  he  has  indulged 
in  a  lioiuan  roundness,  makes  haste  to  chasten  and  nerve  his 
period  by  English  monosyllables. 

When  the  Gothic  nations  came  into  Europe,  they  found  it 
lighted  with  the  sun  and  moon  of  Hebrew  and  of  Greek  gen 
ius.  The  tablets  of  their  brain,  long  kept  in  the  dark,  were 
finely  sensible  to  the  double  glory.  To  the  images  from  this 
twin  source  (of  Christianity  and  art),  the  mind  became  fruit 
ful  as  by  the  incubation  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  The  English 
mind  flowered  in  every  faculty.  The  common  sense  was  sur 
prised  and  inspired.  For  two  centuries,  England  was  philo 
sophic,  religious,  poetic.  The  mental  furniture  seemed  of 
larger  scale  ;  the  memory  capacious  like  the  storehouse  of  the 
rains  ;  the  ardor  and  endurance  of  study  ;  the  boldness  and 
facility  of  their  mental  construction  :  their  fancy,  and  imagi 
nation,  and  easy  spanning  of  vast  distances  of  thought ;  the 
enterprise  or  accosting  of  new  subjects  ;  and,  generally,  the 
easy  exertion  of  power,  astonish,  like  the  legendary  feats  of 
Guy  of  Warwick.  The  union  of  Saxon  precision  and  Oriental 
soaring,  of  which  Shakespeare  is  the  perfect  example,  is  shared 
in  less  degree  by  the  writers  of  two  centuries.  I  find  not  only 
the  great  masters  out  of  all  rivalry  and  reach,  but  the  whole 
writing  of  the  time  charged  with  a  masculine  force  and  free 
dom. 

Tin  TO  is  a  hygienic  simpleness,  rough  vigor,  and  closeness 
to  the  matter  in  hand,  even  in  the  second  and  third  da 
writers  :  and,  I  think,  in  the  common  style  of  the  people,  as 
one  finds  it  in  the  citation  of  wills,  letters,  and  public  docu 
ments,  in  proverbs,  and  forms  of  speech.  The  more  hearty 
12*  K 


274  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

and  sturdy  expression  may  indicate  that  the  savageness  of  the 
Norseman  was  not  all  gone.  Their  dynamic  brains  hurled  off 
their  words,  as  the  revolving  stone  hurls  off  scraps  of  grit.  I 
could  cite  from  the  seventeenth  century  sentences  and  phrases 
of  edge  not  to  be  matched  in  the  nineteenth.  Their  poets  by 
simple  force  of  mind  equalized  themselves  with  the  accumu 
lated  science  of  ours.  The  country  gentlemen  had  a  posset  or 
drink  they  called  October  ;  and  the  poets,  as  if  by  this  hint, 
knew  how  to  distil  the  whole  season  into  their  autumnal 
verses  :  and,  as  nature,  to  pique  the  more,  sometimes  works 
up  deformities  into  beauty,  in  some  rare  Aspasia,  or  Cleopatra ; 
and,  as  the  Greek  art  wrought  many  a  vase  or  column,  in 
which  too  long,  or  too  lithe,  or  nodes,  or  pits  and  flaws,  are 
made  a  beauty  of;  so  these  were  so  quick  and  vital,  that  they 
could  charm  and  enrich  by  mean  and  vulgar  objects. 

A  man  must  think  that  age  well  taught  and  thoughtful,  by 
which  masques  and  poems,  like  those  of  Ben  Jonson,  full  of 
heroic  sentiment  in  a  manly  style,  were  received  with  favor. 
The  unique  fact  in  literary  history,  the  unsurprised  reception 
of  Shakespeare,  —  the  reception  proved  by  his  making  his 
fortune  ;  and  the  apathy  proved  by  the  absence  of  all  contem 
porary  panegyric,  —  seems  to  demonstrate  an  elevation  in  the 
mind  of  the  people.  Judge  of  the  splendor  of  a  nation,  by 
the  insignificance  of  great  individuals  in  it.  The  manner  in 
which  they  learned  Greek  and  Latin,  before  our  modern  facil 
ities  were  yet  ready,  without  dictionaries,  grammars,  or  index 
es,  by  lectures  of  a  professor,  followed  by  their  own  search- 
in^  —  required  a  more  robust  memory,  and  co-operation  of 
all  the  faculties  ;  and  their  scholars,  Camden,  Usher,  Selden, 
Mede,  Gataker,  Hooker,  Taylor,  Burton,  Bentley,  Brian  Wal 
ton,  acquired  the  solidity  and  method  of  engineers. 

The  influence  of  Plato  tinges  the  British  genius.  Their 
minds  loved  analogy  ;  were  cognizant  of  resemblances,  and 
climbers  on  the  staircase  of  unity.  'T  is  a  very  old  strife  be 
tween  those  who  elect  to  see  identity,  and  those  who  elect  to 
see  discrepancies  ;  and  it  renews  itself  in  Britain.  The  poets, 
of  course,  are  of  one  part ;  the  men  of  the  world,  of  the  other. 
But  Britain  had  many  disciples  of  Plato,  —  More,  Hooker,  Ba 
con,  Sidney,  Lord  Brooke,  Herbert,  Browne,  Donne,  Spenser, 
Chapman,  Milton,  Crashaw,  Norris,  Cudworth,  Berkeley,  Jere 
my  Taylor. 

'Lord  Bacon  has  the  English  duality.  His  centuries  of  ob 
servations,  on  useful  science,  and  his  experiments,  I  suppose, 


LITERATURE.  275 

•were  worth  nothing.  One  hint  of  Franklin,  or  Watt,  or  Dai- 
ton,  or  Davy,  or  any  OIK-  who  had  a  talent  for  experiment,  was 
worth  all  his  lifetime  of  exquisite  trifles.  I  Jut  he  drinks  of  a 
diviner  stream,  and  marks  the  influx  of  idealism  into  Kng- 
lanil.  Where  that  goes,  is  poetry,  health,  and  progress.  The 
rules  of  its  uvnesis  or  its  diffusion  are  not  known.  That 
knowledge,  if  we  had  it,  would  supersede  all  we  call  srienee 
of  the  mind.  It  seems  an  all'air  of  race,  or  of  meta-chemis- 
try  :  --  the  vital  point  being,  —  how  far  the  sense  of  unity,  or 
instinct  of  seeking  resemblances,  pn  dominated.  For,  wher 
ever  the  mind  takes  a  step,  it  is,  to  put  itself  at  one  with  a 
larger  class,  discerned  beyond  the  lesser  class  with  which  it 
has  been  conversant.  Hence,  all  poetry,  and  all  anirmativo 
action  comes. 

Ban>n,  in  the  structure  of  his  mind,  held  of  the  analogists, 
of  the  idealists,  or  (as  we  popularly  say,  naming  from  the  best 
example)  Platonists.  Whoever  discredits  analogy,  and  requires 
heaps  of  facts,  before  any  theories  can  be  attempted,  has  no 
poetic  power,  and  nothing  original  or  beautiful  will  be  produced 
by  him.  Locke  is  as  surelv  the  inlhix  of  decomposition  and 
of  prose,  as  Bacon  and  the  Platonists,  of  growth.  The  Platonic 
is  the  poetic  tendency  ;  the  so-called  scientific  is  the  negative 
and  poisonous.  'T  is  quite  certain,  that  Spenser,  Hums,  Ryron, 
and  Wordsworth  will  be  Platonists  ;  and  that  the  dull  men 
will  be  Lockists.  Then  politics  and  commerce  will  absorb  from 
the  educated  class  men  of  talents  without  genius,  precisely 
because  such  have  no  resistance. 

Bacon,  capable  of  ideas,  yet  devoted  to  ends,  required  in  his 
map  of  the  mind,  first  of  all,  universality,  or  //>•//;/•/  j,liil<>.«>j>fiia, 
the  receptacle  for  all  such  profitable  observations,  and  axioms 
as  fall  not  within  the  compass  of  any  of  the  special  parts  of 
philosophy,  but  are  more  common,  and  of  a  higher  stage.  He 
held  this  element  essential  :  it  is  never  out  of  mind  :  lie  never 
spares  rebukes  for  such  as  neglect  it  ;  believing  that  no  perfect 
discovery  can  be  made  in  a  Hat  <>r  level,  but  you  must  ascend 
to  a  higher  science.  "  If  any  man  thinketh  philosophy  and 
universality  to  be  idle  studies,  he  does  not  consider  that  all 
professions  are  from  thence  served  and  supplied,  and  this  I 
take  to  be  a  great  cause  that  has  hindered  the  progression  of 
learning,  because  these  fundamental  knowledges  have  been 
studied  but  in  passage."  He  explained  himself  by  giving 
various  quaint  examples  of  the  summary  or  common  laws,  of 
which  each  science  has  its  own  illustration.  He  complains, 


276  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

that  "  he  finds  this  part  of  learning  very  deficient,  the  pro- 
founder  sort  of  wits  drawing  a  bucket  now  and  then  for  their 
own  use,  but  the  spring-head  unvisited.  This  was  the  dry 
lifjlit  which  did  scorch  and  offend  most  men's  watery  natures." 
Plato  had  signified  the  same  sense,  when  he  said  :  "  All  the 
great  arts  require  a  subtle  and  speculative  research  into  the 
law  of  nature,  since  loftiness  of  thought  and  perfect  mastery 
over  every  subject  seem  to  be  derived  from  some  such  source  as 
this.  This  Pericles  had,  in  addition  to  a  great  natural  genius. 
For,  meeting  with  Anaxagoras,  who  was  a  person  of  this  kind, 
he  attached  himself  to  him,  and  nourished  himself  with  sub 
lime  speculations  on  the  absolute  intelligence  ;  and  imported 
thence  into  the  oratorical  art  whatever  could  be  useful  to  it." 

A  few  generalizations  always  circulate  in  the  world,  whose 
authors  we  do  not  rightly  know,  which  astonish,  and  appear  to 
be  avenues  to  vast  kingdoms  of  thought,  and  these  are  in  the 
world  constants,  like  the  Copernican  and  Newtonian  theories  in 
physics.  In  England,  these  may  be  traced  usually  to  Shake 
speare,  Bacon,  Milton,  or  Hooker,  even  to  Van  Helmont  and 
Behmen,  and  do  all  have  a  kind  of  filial  retrospect  to  Plato 
and  the  Greeks.  Of  this  kind  is  Lord  Bacon's  sentence,  that 
"  nature  is  commanded  by  obeying  her "  ;  his  doctrine  of 
poetry,  which  "  accommodates  the  shows  of  things  to  the 
desires  of  the  mind  "  ;  or  the  Zoroastrian  definition  of  poetry, 
mystical,  yet  exact,  "  apparent  pictures  of  unapparent  natures  "; 
Spenser's  creed,  that  "  soul  is  form,  and  doth  the  body  make  "  ; 
the  theory  of  Berkeley,  and  we  have  no  certain  assurance  of  the 
existerice  of  matter  ;  Doctor  Samuel  Clarke's  argument  for 
theism  from  the  nature  of  space  and  time ;  Harrington's 
political  rule,  that  power  must  rest  on  land,  —  a  rule  which 
requires  to  be  liberally  interpreted  ;  the  theory  of  Sweden- 
borg,  so  cosmically  applied  by  him,  that  the  man  makes  his 
heaven  and  hell  ;  Hegel's  study  of  civil  history,  as  the  conflict 
of  ideas  and  the  victory  of  the  deeper  thought  ;  the  identity- 
philosophy  of  Schelling,  couched  in  the  statement  that  "  all 
difference  is  quantitative."  So  the  very  announcement  of  the 
theory  of  gravitation,  of  Kepler's  three  harmonic  laws,  and 
even  of  Dalton's  doctrine  of  definite  proportions,  finds  a  sudden 
response  in  the  mind,  which  remains  a  superior  evidence  to 
empirical  demonstrations.  I  cite  these  generalizations,  some 
of  which  are  more  recent,  merely  to  indicate  a  class.  Not 
these  particulars,  but  the  mental  plane  or  the  atmosphere 
from  which  they  emanate,  was  the  home  and  element  of  the 


LITER  Aim  K.  277 

writers  and  readers  in  what  we  loosely  call  the  Elizabethan 
>,iy  in  literary  history,  the  period  from  1575  to  1  <'>_!">), 
yet  a  period  almost  short  enough  to  justify  Ben  Jonson's  re 
mark  on  L«>rd  llacou  :  "About  his  time,  and  within  his  view, 
were  bora  all  the  wits  that  could  honor  a  nation,  or  help 
study." 

Such  richness  of  genius  had  not  existed  more  than  once  be^ 
fore.  These  heights  could  not  be  maintained.  As  we  find 
stumps  of  vast  trees  in  our  exhausted  soils,  and  have  received 
traditions  of  their  ancient  fertility  to  tillage,  so  history  reckons 
epochs  in  which  the  intellect  of  lamed  races  became  effete. 
So  it  fared  with  English  genius.  These  heights  were  followed 
by  a  meanness,  and  a  descent  of  the  mind  into  lower  levels  ; 
the  Joss  of  wings  ;  no  high  speculation.  Locke,  to  wh'om  the 
meaning  of  ideas  was  unknown,  became  the  type  of  philosophy, 
and  his  "understanding"  the  measure,  in  all  nations,  of  the 
English  intellect.  His  countrymen  forsook  the  lofty  sides  of 
Parnassus,  on  which  they  had  once  walked  with  echoing  steps, 
and  disused  the  studies  once  so  beloved  ;  the  powers  of  thought 
fell  into  neglect.  The  later  English  want  the  faculty  of  Plato 
and  Aristotle,  of  grouping  men  in  natural  classes  by  an  insight 
of  general  laws,  so  deep,  that  the  rule  is  deduced  with  equal 
precision  from  few  subjects  or  from  one,  as  from  multitudes 
of  lives.  Shakespeare  is  supreme  in  that,  as  in  all  the  great 
mental  energies.  The  Germans  generalize  :  the  English  can 
not  interpret  the  German  mind.  German  science  comprehends 
the  English.  The  absence  of  the  faculty  in  England  is  shown 
by  the  timidity  which  accumulates  mountains  of  facts,  as  a  bad 
general  wants  myriads  of  men  and  miles  of  redoubts,  to  com 
posite  the  inspirations  of  courage  and  conduct. 

The  English  shrink  from  a  generalization.  "  They  do  not 
look  abroad  into  universality,  or  they  draw  only  a  bucket-full 
at  the  fountain  of  the  Eirst  Philosophy  for  their  occasion,  and 
do  not  go  to  the  spring  bead/'  Bacon,  who  said  this,  is  almost 
unique  among  his  countrymen  in  that  faculty,  at  least  among 
the  prose-writers.  Milton,  who  was  the  stair  or  high  table 
land  to  let  down  the  English  genius  from  the  summits  of 
Shakespeare,  used  this  privilege  sometimes  in  poetry,  more 
rarely  in  pn»so.  For  a  lonir  interval  afterwards,  it  is  not  found. 
Burke  was  addicted  tn  grnrrali/ing,  but  his  was  a  shorter  line  ; 
as  his  thoughts  have  less  depth,  they  have  less  compass. 
Hume's  abstractions  are  not  deep  or  wise.  He  owes  his  fame 
to  one  keen  observation,  that  no  copula  had  been  detected  be- 


278  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

twccn  any  cause  and  effect,  either  in  physics  or  in  thought  -y 
that  the  term  cause  and  effect  was  loosely  or  gratuitously  ap 
plied  to  what  we  know  only  as  consecutive,  not  at  all  as  casual. 
Dr.  Johnson's  written  abstractions  have  little  value  :  the  tone 
of  feeling  in  them  makes  their  chief  worth. 

Mr.  Hallam,  a  learned  and  elegant  scholar,  has  written  the 
history  of  European  literature  for  three  centuries,  —  a  per 
formance  of  great  ambition,  inasmuch  as  a  judgment  was  to  be 
attempted  on  every  book.  But  his  eye  does  not  reach  to  the 
ideal  standards ;  the  verdicts  are  all  dated  from  London :  all 
new  thought  must  be  cast  into  the  old  moulds.  The  expansive 
element  which  creates  literature  is  steadily  denied.  Plato  is 
resisted,  and  his  school.  Hallam  is  uniformly  polite,  but  with 
deficient  sympathy  ;  writes  with  resolute  generosity,  but  is  un 
conscious  of  the  deep  worth  which  lies  in  the  nrystics,  and 
which  often  outvalues  as  a  seed  of  power  and  a  source  of  revo 
lution  all  the  correct  writers  and  shining  reputations  of  their 
day.  He  passes  in  silence,  or  dismisses  with  a  kind  of  con 
tempt,  the  profounder  masters  :  a  lover  of  ideas  is  not  only 
imcongenial,  but  unintelligible.  Hallam  inspires  respect  by 
his  knowledge  and  fidelity,  by  his  manifest  love  of  good  books, 
and  he  lifts  himself  to  own  better  than  almost  any  the  great 
ness  of  Shakespeare,  and  better  than  Johnson  he  appreciates 
Milton.  But  in  Hallam,  or  in  the  firmer  intellectual  nerve  of 
Mackintosh,  one  still  finds  the  same  type  of  English  genius. 
It  is  wise  arid  rich,  but  it  lives  on  its  capital.  It  is  retrospec 
tive.  How  can  it  discern  and  hail  the  new  forms  that  are  loom 
ing  up  on  the  horizon,  —  new  and  gigantic  thoughts  which 
cannot  dress  themselves  out  of  any  old  wardrobe  of  the  past  1 

The  essays,  the  fiction,  and  the  poetry  of  the  day  have  the 
like  municipal  limits.  Dickens,  with  preternatural  apprehen 
sion  of  the  language  of  manners,  and  the  varieties  of  street 
life,  with  pathos  and  laughter,  with  patriotic  and  still  enlarg 
ing  generosity,  writes  London  tracts.  He  is  a  painter  of  Eng 
lish  details,  like  Hogarth  ;  local  and  temporary  in  his  tints 
and  style,  and  local  in  his  aims.  Bulwer,  an  industrious  writ 
er,  with  occasional  ability,  is  distinguished  for  his  reverence 
of  intellect  as  a  temporality,  and  appeals  to  the  worldly  ambi 
tion  of  the  student.  His  romances  tend  to  fan  these  low 
flames.  Their  novelists  despair  of  the  heart.  Thackeray 
finds  that  God  has  made  no  allowance  for  the  poor  thing  in  his 
universe  ;  —  more  's  the  pity,  he  thinks  ;  —  but  't  is  not  for  us 
to  be  wiser  :  we  must  renounce  ideals,  and  accept  London. 


279 

The  brilliant  Macanlay,  who  expresses  the  tone  of  the  Eng 
lish  governing  classes  of  the  day,  explicitly  teaches,  that  good 
means  «_'«><•( I  to  eat,  good  to  wear,  material  commodity;  that 
the  glory  of  modern  ])liilosophy  is  its  direction  on  "  fruit  "  ;  to 
yield  economical  inventions  ;  and  that  its  merit  is  to  avoid 
ideas,  and  avoid  morals.  He  thinks  it  the  distinctive  merit  of 
the  Baconian  philosophy,  in  its  triumph  over  the  old  Platonic, 
its  disentangling  the  intellect  from  theories  of  the  all-Fair  and 
alMJood,  and  pinning  it  down  to  the  making  a  better  sick- 
chair  and  a  better  \\ine-\vhev  for  an  invalid  ;  —  this  not  iron 
ically,  but  in  good  faith; — that,  "  solid  advantage,"  as  he 
calls  it.  meaning  always  sensual  benefit,  is  the  only  good.  The 
eminent  benetit  of  astronomy  is  the  better  navigation  it  creates 
to  enable  the  fruit-ships  to  bring  home  their  lemons  and  wine 
to  the  London  grocer.  It  was  a  curious  result,  in  which  the 
civility  and  religion  of  England  for  a  thousand  vears,  ends,  in 
denying  morals,  and  reducing  the  intellect  to  a  sauce-pan.  The 
critic  hides  his  scepticism  under  the  English  cant  of  practical. 
To  convince  the  n-  ;><>n,  to  touch  the  conscience,  is  romantic 
pretension.  The  fine  arts  fall  to  the  ground.  Beauty,  except 
as  luxurious  commodity,  does  not  exist.  It  is  very  certain,  I 
may  say  in  pa»inir.  that  if  Lord  Bacon  had  been  only  the  sen 
sualist  his  critic  pretends,  he  would  never  have  acquired  the 
fame  which  now  entitles  him  to  this  patronage.  It  is  because 
he  had  imagination,  the  leisures  of  the  spirit,  and  basked  in 
an  element  of  contemplation  out  of  all  modern  English  atmos 
pheric  gauges,  that  he  is  impressive  to  the  imaginations  of 
men,  and  has  become  a  potentate  not  to  be  ignored.  Sir 
David  Brewster  sees  the  high  place  of  Bacon,  without  finding 
Newton  indebted  to  him.  and  thinks  it  a  mistake.  Bacon  oc 
cupies  it  by  specific  gravity  or  levity,  not  by  any  feat  he  did, 
or  by  any  tutoring  more  or  less  of  Newton,  &c.,  but  an  effect 
of  the  sani'-  cause  which  showed  itself  more  pronounced  after 
wards  in  Hooke,  IJoyle,  and  Halley. 

Coleridge,   a    catholic  mind,  with  a  hunger  for  ideas,  with 

eye-  looking  before  and  after  to  the  highest    hards  and   sages, 

and  who  wrote  and  spoke  the  onlv  hi-_rh   criticism  in  his  time, 

—  is  one  of  those  who  save   Kngland  from  the  reproach  of  no 

longer   possessing  the  capacity  to  appreciate  what   rarest  wit 

!  ind  has  yielded.     Yet  the  misfortune  of  his  life,  hi 
attempts  but   most   inadequate   performingB,  failing  to  accom 
plish  any  one  masterpiece,  seems  to  mark  the  closing  of  an  era. 
Even  in  him,  the  traditional  Englishman  was  too  strong  for 


280  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

the  philosopher,  and  he  fell  into  accommodations:  and,  as 
Burke  had  striven  to  idealize  the  English  State,  so  Coleridge 
'  narrowed  his  mind '  in  the  attempt  to  reconcile  the  gothic 
rule  and  dogma  of  the  Anglican  Church,  with  eternal  ideas. 
But  for  Coleridge,  and  a  lurking  taciturn  minority,  uttering  it 
self  in  occasional  criticism,  oftener  in  private  discourse,  one 
would  say,  that  in  Germany  and  in  America,  is  the  best  mind 
in  England  rightly  respected.  It  is  the  surest  sign  of  national 
decay,  when  the  Bramins  can  no  longer  read  or  understand  the 
Braminical  philosophy. 

In  the  decomposition  and  asphyxia  that  followed  all  this  ma 
terialism,  Carlyle  was  driven  by  his  disgust  at  the  pettiness 
and  the  cant,  into  the  preaching  of  Fate.  In  comparison  with 
all  this  rottenness,  any  check,  any  cleansing,  though  by  fire, 
seemed  desirable  and  beautiful.  He  saw  little  difference  in 
the  gladiators,  or  the  "  causes  "  for  which  they  combated  ;  the 
one  comfort  was,  that  they  were  all  going  speedily  into  the 
abyss  together  :  And  his  imagination,  finding  no  nutriment 
in  any  creation,  avenged  itself  by  celebrating  the  majestic 
beauty  of  the  laws  of  decay.  The  necessities  of  mental  struc 
ture  force  all  minds  into  a  few  categories,  and  where  impa 
tience  of  the  tricks  of  men  makes  Nemesis  amiable,  and  builds 
altars  to  the  negative  Deity,  the  inevitable  recoil  is  to  heroism 
or  the  gallantry  of  the  private  heart,  which  decks  its  immola 
tion  with  glory,  in  the  unequal  combat  of  wrill  against  fate. 

Wilkinson,  the  editor  of  Swedenborg,  the  annotator  of  Fou 
rier,  and  the  champion  of  Hahnemann,  has  brought  to  meta 
physics  and  to  physiology  a  native  vigor,  with  a  catholic 
perception  of  relations,  equal  to  the  highest  attempts,  and  a 
rhetoric  like  the  armory  of  the  invincible  knights  of  old. 
There  is  in  the  action  of  his  mind  a  long  Atlantic  roll  not 
known  except  in  deepest  waters,  and  only  lacking  what  ought 
to  accompany  such  powers,  a  manifest  centrality.  If  his  mind 
does  not  rest  in  immovable  biases,  perhaps  the  orbit  is  larger, 
and  the  return  is  not  yet :  but  a  master  should  inspire  a  con 
fidence  that  he  will  adhere  to  his  convictions,  and  give  his 
present  studies  always  the  same  high  place. 

It  would  be  easy  to  add  exceptions  to  the  limitary  tone  of 
English  thought,  and  much  more  easy  to  adduce  examples  of 
excellence  in  particular  veins  ;  and  if,  going  out  of  the  region 
of  dogma,  we  pass  into  that  of  general  culture,  there  is  no  end 
to  the  graces  and  amenities,  wit,  sensibility,  and  erudition,  of 
the  learned  class.  But  the  artificial  succor  which  marks  all 


LITER  AT  mi-;.  281 

English  pcrformanco,  appears  in  letters  also:  much  of  their 
.•esthetic  production  is  antiquarian  and  manufactured,  and  lit- 
erarv  reputations  have  been  achieved  l»y  forcible  men.  whoso 
relation  to  literature  was  purely  accidental,  hut  who  were  driven 
hv  tastes  and  moth's  they  found  in  vogue  into  their  several 
careers.  So.  at  this  moment,  every  amhitioiis  young  man 
studies  geology;  so  members  of  Parliament  are  made,  and 
churchmen. 

The  hias  of  Englishmen  to  practical  skill  has  reacted  on  tho 
national  mind.  They  are  incapahle  of  an  iniitility,  and  respect 
the  five  mechanic  powers  even  in  their  song.  The  voice  of 
their  modern  muse  has  a  slight  hint  of  the  steam-whistle,  and 
the  poem  is  created  as  an  ornament  and  linish  of  their  mon 
archy,  and  by  no  means  as  the  bird  of  a  new  morning  which 
forgets  the  past  world  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  that  which  is 
forming.  Thev  are  with  difficulty  ideal ;  they  are  the  most 
conditioned  men,  as  if,  having  the  best  conditions,  they  could 
not  bring  themselves  to  forfeit  them.  Every  one  of  them  is  a 
thousand  years  old,  and  lives  by  his  memory;  and  when  you 
say  this,  they  accept  it  as  praise. 

"Nothing  comes  to  the  book-shops  but  politics,  travels,  statis 
tics,  tabulation,  and  engineering,  and  even  what  is  called  philos 
ophy  and  letters  is  mechanical  in  its  structure,  as  if  inspiration 
had  ceased,  as  if  no  vast  hope,  no  religion,  no  song  of  joy,  no 
wisdom,  no  analogy,  existed  any  more.  The  tone  of  colleges 
and  of  scholars  and  of  literary  society  has  this  mortal  air.  I 
seem  to  walk  on  a  marble  floor,  where  nothing  will  grow.  They 
exert  every  variety  of  talent  on  a  lower  ground,  and  may  be 
said  to  live  and  act  in  a  sub-mind.""  They  have  lost  all  com 
manding  views  in  literature,  philosophy,  and  science.  A  good 
Englishman  shuts  himself  out  of  three  fourths  of  his  mind, 
and  confines  himself  to  one  fourth.  He  has  learning,  good 
sense,  power  of  labor,  and  logic  :  but  a  faith  in  the  laws  of  tho 
mind  like  that  of  Archimedes  ;  a  belief  like  that  of  Eulcr  and 
Kepler,  that  experience  must  follow  and  not  lead  the  laws  of 
the  mind ;  a  devotion  to  the  theory  of  politics,  like  that  of 
Hooker,  and  Milton,  and  Harrington,  the  modern  English  mind 
repudiate-. 

I  fear  the  same  fault  lies  in  their  science,  since  they  have 
known  how  to  make  it  repulsive,  and  bereave  nature  of  its 
charm  ;  —  though  perhaps  the  complaint  Hies  wider,  and  tho 
vice  attaches  to  many  more  than  to  British  physicists.  The 
eye  of  tho  naturalist  must  have  a  scope  like  nature  itself,  a 


282  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

susceptibility  to  all  impressions,  alive  to  the  heart  as  well  as 
to  the  logic  of  creation.  But  English  science  puts  humanity 
to  the  door.  It  wants  the  connection  which  is  the  test  of  ge 
nius.  The  science  is  false  by  not  being  poetic.  It  isolates  the 
reptile  or  mollusk  it  assumes  to  explain ;  whilst  reptile  or  mol- 
lusk  only  exists  in  system,  in  relation.  The  poet  only  sees  it 
as  an  inevitable  step  in  the  path  of  the  Creator.  But,  in  Eng 
land,  one  hermit  finds  this  fact,  and  another  finds  that,  and 
lives  and  dies  ignorant  of  its  value.  There  are  great  exceptions, 
of  John  Hunter,  a  man  of  ideas  ;  perhaps  of  Kobert  Brown, 
the  botanist ;  and  of  Richard  Owen,  who  has  imported  into 
Britain  the  German  homologies,  and  enriched  science  with  con 
tributions  of  his  own,  adding  sometimes  the  divination  of  the 
old  masters  to  the  unbroken  power  of  labor  in  the  English 
mind.  But  for  the  most  part,  the  natural  science  in  England 
is  out  of  its  loyal  alliance  with  morals,  and  is  as  void  of  imagi 
nation  and  free  play  of  thought,  as  conveyancing.  It  stands 
in  strong  contrast  with  the  genius  of  the  Germans,  those  semi- 
Greeks,  who  love  analogy,  and,  by  means  of  their  height  of 
view,  preserve  their  enthusiasm,  and  think  for  Europe. 

No  hope,  no  sublime  augury,  cheers  the  student,  no  secure 
striding  from  experiment  onward  to  a  foreseen  law,  but  only  a 
casual  dipping  here  and  there,  like  diggers  in  California 
"prospecting  for  a  placer"  that  will  pay.  A  horizon  of  brass 
of  the  diameter  of  his  umbrella  shuts  down  around  his  senses. 
Squalid  contentment  with  conventions,  satire  at  the  names  of 
philosophy  and  religion,  parochial  and  shop-till  politics,  and 
idolatry  of  usage,  betray  the  ebb  of  life  and  spirit.  As  they 
trample  on  nationalities  to"  reproduce  London  and  Londoners 
in  Europe  and  Asia,  so  they  fear  the  hostility  of  ideas,  of 
poetry,  of  religion,  — ghosts  which  they  cannot  lay  ;  and,  hav 
ing  attempted  to  domesticate  and  dress  the  Blessed  Soul  itself 
in  English  broadcloth  and  gaiters,  they  are  tormented  with 
fear  that  herein  lurks  a  force  that  will  sweep  their  system  away. 
The  artists  say,  "Nature  puts  us  out";  the  scholars  have  be 
come  un-ideal.  They  parry  earnest  speech  with  banter  and 
levity  ;  they  laugh  you  down,  or  they  change  the  subject. 
"  The  fact  is,"  say  they  over  their  wine,  "  all  that  about  lib 
erty,  and  so  forth,  is  gone  by  ;  it  won't  do  any  longer."  The 
practical  and  comfortable  oppress  them  with  inexorable  claims, 
and  the  smallest  fraction  of  power  remains  for  heroism  and 
poetry.  No  poet  dares  murmur  of  beauty  out  of  the  precinct 
of  his  rhymes.  No  priest  dares  hint  at  a  Providence  which 


LITERATURE.  283 

does  not  respect  English  utility.  The  island  is  a  roaring  vol 
cano  of  fate,  of  material  values,  of  tariffs,  and  laws  of  repres 
sion,  glutted  markets  and  low  pr; 

lu  the  absence  of  the  hi-hest  aims,  of  the  pure  love  of 
knowledge,  and  tlie  surrender  to  naturi1.  there  is  the  suppres- 
sioii  of  the  imagination,  the  priapism  of  the  B6B8efl  and  the 
understaiidiii--  :  we  have  the  factitious  instead  of  the  natural  ; 
tasteless  expense,  arts  of  comfort,  and  the  rewarding  as  an 
illustrious  inventor  whomever  will  contrive  one  impediment 
more  to  interpose  hetween  the  man  and  his  objects. 

Tims  poetry  is  degraded*  and  made  ornamental.  Pope  and 
his  aohool  wr«.te  poetry  tit  to  put  round  frosted  cake.  What  did 
Walter  Scott  write  without  stint  I  a  rhymed  traveller's  guide 
to  Scotland.  And  the  libraries  of  verses  they  print  have  this 
Birmin-ham  character.  How  many  volumes  of  well-hred  me 
tre  we  must  jingle  through,  before  we  can  be  filled,  taught, 
renewed  !  We  want  the  miraculous  ;  the  beauty  which  wo 
can  manufacture  at  no  mill, — can  give  no  account  of ;  the 
beauty  of  which  Chaucer  and  Chapman  had  the  secret.  The 
poetry  of  eourse  is  low  and  prosaic  ;  only  now  and  then,  as  in 
Wordsworth,  conscientious;  or  in  Bvron,  passional  ;  or  in  Ten 
nyson,  factitious.  But  if  1  should  count  the  poets  who  have 
contributed  to  the  Bible  of  existing  Kngland  sentences  of 
guidance  and  consolation  which  are  still  glowing  and  effective, 
—  how  few!  Shall  I  find  my  heavenly  bread  in  the  reigning 
Win-re  is  great  design  in  modern  Mnglish  poetry? 
The  English  have  lost  sight  of  the  fact  that  poetry  exists  t«. 
speak  the  spiritual  law,  and  that  no  wealth  of  description  or 
of  fancy  is  yet  essentially  new,  and  out  of  the  limits  of  prose, 
until  this  condition  is  reached.  Therefore  the  grave  old  poets, 
like  the  Greek  artists,  heeded  their  designs,  and  less  consid 
ered  the  finish.  It  was  their  office  to  lead  to  the  divine 
sources,  out  of  which  all  this,  and  much  more,  readily  springs  ; 
and.  if  this  religion  is  in  the  poetry,  it  raises  us  to  some  pur 
pose,  and  we  can  well  afford  some  staidness,  or  hardness,  or 
want  of  popular  tune  in  the  verses. 

The  exceptional  fact  of  the  period  is  the  genius  of  Words 
worth.  He  had  no  master  but  nature  and  solitude.  "He 
wrote  a  poem,"  MJI  Landor,  "without  the  aid  of  war."  His 
verse  is  the  voice  ..f  sanity  in  a  worldly  and  ambition- 
One  regrets  that  his  temperament  was  not  more  liquid  and 
musical.  He  lias  written  longer  than  he  was  inspired.  But 
for  the  rest,  he  has  no  competitor. 


284  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

Tennyson  is  endowed  precisely  in  points  where  Wordsworth 
wanted.  There  is  no  finer  ear  than  Tennyson's,  nor  more 
command  of  the  keys  of  language.  Color,  like  the  dawn,  flows 
over  the  horizon  from  his  pencil,  in  waves  so  rich  that  we  do 
not  miss  the  central  form.  Through  all  his  refinements,  too, 
he  has  reached  the  public,  —  a  certificate  of  good  sense  and 
general  power,  since  he  who  aspires  to  be  the  English  poet 
must  be  as  large  as  London,  not  in  the  same  kind  as  London, 
but  in  his  own  kind.  But  he  wants  a  subject,  and  climbs  no 
mount  of  vision  to  bring  its  secrets  to  the  people.  He  con 
tents  himself  with  describing  the  Englishman  as  he  is,  and 
proposes  no  better.  There  are  all  degrees  in  poetry,  and  we 
must  be  thankful  for  every  beautiful  talent.  But  it  is  only  a 
first  success,  when  the  ear  is  gained.  The  best  office  of  the 
best  poets  has  been  to  show  how  low  and  uninspired  was  their 
general  style,  and  that  only  once  or  twice  they  have  struck 
the  high  chord. 

That  expansiveness  which  is  the  essence  of  the  poetic  ele 
ment,  they  have  not.  It  was  no  Oxonian,  but  Hafiz,  who 
said :  "  Let  us  be  crowned  with  roses,  let  us  drink  wine,  and 
break  up  the  tiresome  old  roof  of  heaven  into  new  forms." 
A  stanza  of  the  song  of  nature  the  Oxonian  has  no  ear  for, 
and  he  does  not  value  the  salient  and  curative  influence  of 
Intellectual  action,  studious  of  truth,  without  a  by-end. 

By  the  law  of  contraries,  I  look  for  an  irresistible  taste  for 
Orientalism  in  Britain.  For  a  self-conceited  modish  life,  made 
up  of  trifles,  clinging  to  a  corporeal  civilization,  hating  ideas, 
there  is  no  remedy  like  the  Oriental  largeness.  That  astonishes 
and  disconcerts  English  decorum.  For  once  there  is  thunder 
it  never  heard,  light  it  never  saw,  and  power  which  trifles  with 
time  and  space.  I  am  not  surprised,  then,  to  find  an  English' 
man  like  Warren  Hastings,  who  had  been  struck  with  the 
grand  style  of  thinking  in  the  Indian  writings,  deprecating 
the  prejudices  of  his  countrymen,  while  offering  them  a  trans 
lation  of  the  Bhagvat.  ".Might  I,"  he  says,  "an  unlettered 
man,  venture  to  prescribe  bounds  to  the  latitude  of  criticism, 
I  should  exclude,  in  estimating  the  merit  of  such  a  produc-1 
tion,  all  rules  drawn  from  the  ancient  or  modern  literature  of 
Europe,  all  references  to  such  sentiments  or  manners  as  are 
become  the  standards  of  propriety  for  opinion  and  action  in 
our  own  modes,  and,  equally,  all  appeals  to  our  revealed  tenets, 
of  religion  and  moral  duty."  *  He  goes  on  to  bespeak  indul- 

*  Preface  to  Wilkins's  Translation  of  the  Bhagvat  Geeta. 


mi:  -TIMES."  285 

gcnce  to  "  ornaments  of  fancy  unsuited  to  our  taste,  find  pas- 
.•levated  to  a  tract  of  sublimity  into  which  our  habits  of 
judgment  will  find  it  difficult  to  pursue  them." 

Meantime,  I  know  tliat  a  retrieving  power  lies  in  the  Eng 
lish  race,  which  seems  to  make  any  recoil  possible;  in  other 
w.n-ds,  there  is  at  all  times  a  minority  of  profound  minds  ex 
isting  in  the  nation,  capable  of  appreciating  every  soaring  of 
intellect  and  every  hint  of  tendency.  While  the  constructive 
talent  seems  dwarfed  and  superficial,  the  criticism  is  often  in 
the  noblest  tone,  and  SULI^VMS  the  presence  of  the  invisible 
Lfods.  i  can  well  believe  what  1  have  often  heard,  that  there 
are  two  nations  in  England;  but  it  is  not  the  Poor  and  the 
Rich  ;  nor  is  it  the  Normans  and  Saxons  ;  nor  the  Celt  and 
the  Goth.  These  are  each  always  becoming  the  other;  for 
Robert  Owen  does  not  e.x  a  Derate  the  power  of  circumstance. 
But  the  two  complexions,  or  two  styles  of  mind,  —  the  per 
ceptive  class,  and  the  practical  finality  class, — are  ever  in 
counterpoise,  interacting  mutually;  one,  in  hopeless  minori 
ties  ;  the  other,  in  huge  masses  ;  one  studious,  contemplative, 
experimenting  :  the  other,  the  ungrateful  pupil,  scornful  of 
the  source,  whilst  availing  itself  of  the  knowledge  for  gain  ; 
these  two  nations,  of  genius  and  of  animal  force,  though  the 
first  consist  of  only  a  dozen  souls,  and  the  second  of  twenty 
millions,  forever  by  their  discord  and  their  accord  yield  the 
power  of  the  English  State. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    "TIMi>." 

THE  power  of  the  newspaper  is  familiar  in  America,  and 
in  accordance  with  our  political  system.  In  Kn;rland.  it 
stands  in  antagonism  with  the  feudal  institutions,  and  it  is  all 
the  more  beneficent  succor  against  the  secretive  tendencies  of 
a  monarchy.  The  celebrated  Lord  Snmers  "knew  of  no  good 
law  proposed  and  passed  in  his  time,  to  which  the  public  pa 
pers  had  not  directed  his  attention."  There  is  no  corner  and 
no  night.  A  relentless  iinjiiisit  ion  drag's  every  secret  to  the 
day,  turns  the  glare  of  this  solar  microscope  on  every  mal- 
faisance,  so  as  to  make  the  public  a  more  terrible  spy  than 


286  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

any  foreigner ;  and  no  weakness  can  be  taken  advantage  of  by 
an  enemy,  since  the  whole  people  are  already  forewarned. 
Thus  England  rids  herself  of  those  incrustations  which  have 
been  the  ruin  of  old  states.  Of  course,  this  inspection  is 
feared.  No  antique  privilege,  no  comfortable  monopoly,  but 
sees  surely  that  its  days  are  counted ;  the  people  are  familiar 
ized  with  the  reason  of  reform,  and,  one  by  one,  take  away 
every  argument  of  the  obstructives.  "  So  your  Grace  likes 
the  comfort  of  reading  the  newspapers,"  said  Lord  Mansfield 
to  the  Duke  of  Northumberland  ;  "  mark  my  words ;  you  and 
I  shall  not  live  to  see  it,  but  this  young  gentleman  (Lord  El- 
don)*  may,  or  it  may  be  a  little  later ;  but  a  little  sooner  or 
later,  these  newspapers  will  most  assuredly  write  the  dukes  of 
Northumberland  out  of  their  titles  and  possessions,  and  the 
country  out  of  its  king."  The  tendency  in  England  towards 
social  and  political  institutions  like  those  of  America,  is  in 
evitable,  and  the  ability  of  its  journals  is  the  driving  force. 

England  is  full  of  manly,  clever,  well-bred  men  who  possess 
the  talent  of  writing  off-hand  pungent  paragraphs,  expressing 
with  clearness  and  courage  their  opinion  on  any  person  or  per 
formance.  Valuable  or  not,  it  is  a  skill  that  is  rarely  found, 
out  of  the  English  journals.  The  English  do  this,  as  they 
write  poetry,  as  they  ride  and  box,  by  being  educated  to  it. 
Hundreds  of  clever  Praeds,  and  Freres,  and  Froudes,  and 
Hoods,  and  Hooks,  and  Maginns,  and  Mills,  and  Macaulays, 
make  poems,  or  short  essays  for  a  journal,  as  they  make 
speeches  in  Parliament  and  on  the  hustings,  or,  as  they  shoot 
and  ride.  It  is  a  quite  accidental  and  arbitrary  direction  of 
their  general  ability.  Rude  health  and  spirits,  an  Oxford  edu 
cation,  and  the  habits  of  society  are  implied,  but  not  a  ray  of 
genius.  It  comes  of  the  crowded  state  of  the  professions,  the 
violent  interest  which  all  men  take  in  politics,  the  facility  of 
experimenting  in  the  journals,  and  high  pay. 

The  most  conspicuous  result  of  this  talent  is  the  "  Times  " 
newspaper.  No  power  in  England  is  more  felt,  more  feared, 
or  more  obeyed.  What  you  read  in  the  morning  in  that  jour 
nal,  you  shall  hear  in  the  evening  in  all  society.  It  has  ears 
everywhere,  and  its  information  is  earliest,  completest,  and 
surest.  It  has  risen,  year  by  year,  and  victory  by  victory,  to 
its  present  authority.  I  asked  one  of  its  old  contributors, 
whether  it  had  once  been  abler  than  it  is  now  1  "  Never,"  he 
said  ;  "  these  are  its  palmiest  days."  It  has  shown  those 
qualities  which  are  dear  to  Englishmen,  unflinching  adherence 


THE   "TIMES."  287 

to  its  objects,  prodigal  intellectual  ability,  and  a  towering  as 
surance,  backed  by  the  perfect  organization  in  its  print  ing- 
hoiise.  and  its  world -wide  network  of  correspondence  and  re 
ports.  It  has  its  own  history  and  famous  trophies.  In  1820, 
it  adapted  the  cans,-  of  Hueen  ('an. line,  and  carried  it  against 
the  king.  It  adopted  a  pour  law  system,  and  almost  alone 
lifted  it  through.  When  Lord  Brougham  was  in  power,  it 
decided  against  him,  ami  pulled  him  down.  It  declared  war 
against  Ireland,  and  conquered  it.  It  adopted  the  League 
against  the  Corn  Laws,  and,  when  ( 'obden  had  begun  to  de 
spair,  it  announced  his  triumph.  It  denounced  and  discredited 
the  French  Republic  of  1848,  and  checked  every  sympathy 
with  it  in  Kngland,  until  it  had  enrolled  200,000  special  con 
stables  to  watch  the  Chartists,  and  make  them  ridiculous  on 
the  l()th  April.  It  first  denounced  and  then  adopted  the  new 
French  Empire,  and  urged  the  French  Alliance  and  its  results. 
It  has  entered  into  each  municipal,  literary,  and  social  ques 
tion,  almost  with  a  controlling  voice.  It  has  done  bold  and 
seasonable  service  in  exposing  frauds  which  threatened  the 
commercial  community.  Meantime,  it  attacks  its  rivals  by 
perfecting  its  printing  machinery,  and  will  drive  them  out  of 
Circulation  ;  for  the  only  limit  to  the  circulation  of  the  "Times" 
is  the  impossibility  of  printing  copies  fast  enough ;  since  a 
daily  paper  can  only  be  new  and  seasonable  for  a  few  hours. 
It  will  kill  all  but  that  paper  which  is  diametrically  in  oppo 
sition  ;  since  many  papers,  first  and  last,  have  lived  by  their 
attacks  on  the  leading  journal. 

The  late  Mr.  Walter  was  printer  of  the  "  Times,"  and  had 
gradually  arranged  the  whole  //."//,  ,-i,  I  of  it  in  perfect  system. 
It  is  told,  that  when  lie  demanded  a  small  share  in  the  pro 
prietary,  and  was  refused,  he  said,  k>  As  you  please,  gentlemen  ; 
and  you  may  take  away  the  'Times'  from  this  office  when  you 
will  ;  I  shall  publish  the  '  New  Times'  next  Monday  morning." 
The  proprietors,  who  had  already  complained  that  his  cliarvvs 
for  printing  were  excessive,  found  that  they  were  in  his  power, 
and  -aye  him  what'-yer  he  wished. 

I  went  one  day  with  a  good  friend  to  the  "  Times  "  office, 
which  was  entered  through  a  pretty  garden-yard,  in  Print  ing- 
House  Square.  We  walked  with  some  circumspection,  as  if 
we  were  entering  a  powder-mill  ;  but  the  door  was  opened  by 
a  mild  old  woman,  and,  by  dint  of  some  transmission  of  <•.  pU. 
we  were  at  last  conducted  into  the  parlor  of  Mr.  Morris,  a 
very  gentle  person,  with  no  hostile  appearances.  The  statis- 


288  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

tics  are  now  quite  out  of  date,  but  I  remember  he  told  us  that 
the  daily  printing  was  then  35,000  copies;  that  on  the  1st 
March,  1848,  the  greatest  number  ever  printed,  —  54,000 
were  issued ;  that,  since  February,  the  daily  circulation  had 
increased  by  8000  copies.  The  old  press  they  were  then  using 
printed  five  or  six  thousand  sheets  per  hour ;  the  new  machine, 
for  which  they  were  then  building  an  engine,  would  print 
twelve  thousand  per  hour.  Our  entertainer  confided  us  to  a 
courteous  assistant  to  show  us  the  establishment,  in  which,  I 
think,  they  employed  a  hundred  and  twenty  men.  I  remember, 
I  saw  the  reporters'  room,  in  which  they  redact  their  hasty 
stenographs,  but  the  editor's  room,  and  who  is  in  it,  I  did 
not  see,  though  I  shared  the  curiosity  of  mankind  respecting 
it. 

The  staff  of  the  "  Times "  has  always  been  made  up  of 
able  men.  Old  Walter,  Sterling,  Bacon,  Barnes,  Alsiger,  Hor- 
ance  Twiss,  Jones  Loyd,  John  Oxenford,  Mr.  Mosely,  Mr.  Bai 
ley,  have  contributed  to  its  renown  in  their  special  depart 
ments.  But  it  has  never  wanted  the  first  pens  for  occasional 
assistance.  Its  private  information  is  inexplicable,  and  recalls 
the  stories  of  Fouche's  police,  whose  omniscience  made  it  be 
lieved  that  the  Empress  Josephine  must  be  in  his  pay.  It  has 
•mercantile  and  political  correspondents  in  every  foreign  city ; 
and  its  expresses  outrun  the  despatches  of  the  government. 
One  hears  anecdotes  of  the  rise  of  its  servants,  as  of  the  func 
tionaries  of  the  India  House.  I  was  told  of  the  dexterity  of 
one  of  its  reporters,  who,  finding  himself,  on  one  occasion, 
where  the  magistrates  had  strictly  forbidden  reporters,  put  his 
hands  into  his  coat-pocket,  and  with  pencil  in  one  hand,  and 
tablet  in  the  other,  did  his  work. 

The  influence  of  this  journal  is  a  recognized  power  in 
Europe,  and,  of  course,  none  is  more  conscious  of  it  than  its 
conductors.  The  tone  of  its  articles  has  often  been  the  occa 
sion  of  comment  from  the  official  organs  of  the  continental 
courts,  and  sometimes  the  ground  of  diplomatic  complaint. 
What  would  the  "  Times  "  say  1  is  a  terror  in  Paris,  in  Berlin, 
in  Vienna,  in  Copenhagen,  and  in  Nepaul.  Its  consummate, 
discretion  and  success  exhibit  the  English  skill  of  combination. 
The  daily  paper  is  the  work  of  many  hands,  chiefly,  it  is  said, 
of  young  men  recently  from  the  University,  and  perhaps  read 
ing  law  in  chambers  in  London.  Hence  the  academic  elegance, 
and  classic  allusion,  which  adorn  its  columns.  Hence,  too,  the 
heat  and  gallantry  of  its  onset.  But  the  steadiness  of  the 


THE  *  TIMES."  289 

aim  suggests  the  belief  that  tliis  fire  is  directed  and  fed  by 
older  i  if  persons  of  exact  information,  and  with 

settled  views  of  policy,  supplied  the  writers  with  the  basis  of 
fa.-t.  ami  tin-  object  to  In-  attaim'd,  and  availed  themselves 
of  tlu-ir  younger  energy  and  eloquence  to  plead  the  cause, 
lloth  the  council  ;md  the  executive  departments  -ain  by  this 
division.  Of  two  men  of  equal  ability,  the  one  who  does  not 
write,  but  keeps  his  eye  on  the  course  of  public  affairs,  will 
have  the  higher  judicial  wisdom.  But  the  parts  are  kept  in 
concert  ;  all  the  articles  appear  to  proceed  from  a  single  will. 
The  ••  Times  '*  never  disapproves  of  what  itself  has  said,  or 
cripples  itself  by  aj>olo-y  for  the  absence  of  the  editor,  or  the 
indiscretion  of  him  who  held  the  pen.  It  speaks  out  bluff  and 
bold,  and  sticks  to  what  it  says.  It  draws  from  any  number 
of  learned  and  skilful  contributors;  but  a  more  learned  and 
skilful  I*TX >n  supervises,  corrects,  and  co-ordinates.  Of  this 
closet,  the  secret  docs  not  transpire.  No  writer  is  suffered  to 
claim  the  authorship  of  any  pa}x,T  ;  everything  goxnl,  from 
whatever  quarter,  comes  out  editorially;  and  thus,  by  making 
the  paper  everything,  and  those  who  write  it  nothing,  the 
character  and  the  awe  of  the  journal  Lfain. 

The  English  like  it  for  its  complete  information.  A  state 
ment  of  fact  in  the  "  Times"  is  as  reliable  as  a  citation  from 
Hansard.  Then,  they  like  its  independence  ;  they  do  not 
know,  when  they  take  it  up,  what  their  paper  is  going  to 
say  :  but.  above  all.  for  the  nationality  and  confidence  of  its 
tone.  It  thinks  for  them  all  :  it  is  their  understanding  and 
<lay's  ideal  dairuerreotypcd.  When  1  Me  them  reading  its  col 
umns,  they  seem  to  me  becoming  every  moment  more  British. 
It  has  the  national  courage,  not  rash  and  petulant,  but  consid 
erate  and  determined.  No  dignity  or  wealth  is  a  shield  from 
-unit.  It  attacks  a  duke  as  readily  as  a  policeman,  and 
with  the  most  provoking  airs  of  condescension.  It  makes  rude 
work  with  the  Board  of  Admiralty.  The  Bench  of  Bishops 
is  still  less  safe.  One  bishop  fares  badly  for  his  rapacity,  and 
another  for  his  bigotry,  and  a  third  for  his  courtliness.  It  ad- 
-  occasionally  a  hint  to  majesty  itself,  and  sometimes  a 
hint  which  is  taken.  There  is  an  air  of  freedom  even  in  their 
advertising  columns,  which  speaks  well  for  Kn-land  to  a  for 
eigner.  On  the  days  when  I  arrived  in  London  in  1*47,  I 
read  among  the  daily  announcements,  one  offering  a  reward  of 
fifty  p  >unds  to  any  person  who  would  put  a  nobleman,  de 
scribed  by  name  and  title,  late  a  member  of  Parliament,  into 

VOL.    II*  13  8 


290  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

any  county  jail  in  England,  he  having  been  convicted  of  ol> 
taining  money  under  false  pretences. 

Was  never  such  arrogancy  as  the  tone  of  this  paper.  Every 
slip  of  an  Oxonian  or  Cantabrigian  who  writes  his  tirst  leader 
assumes  that  we  subdued  the  earth  before  we  sat  down  to 
write  this  particular  "  Times."  One  would  think  the  world 
was  on  its  knees  to  the  "  Times  "  Office,  for  its  daily  break 
fast.  But  this  arrogance  is  calculated.  Who  would  care  for 
it,  if  it  "surmised,"  or  "dared  to  confess,"  or  "ventured  to 
predict,"  <fcc.  No  ;  it  is  so,  and  so  it  shall  be. 

The  morality  and  patriotism  of  the  "  Times  "  claims  only  to 
be  representative,  and  by  no  means  ideal.  It  gives  the  argu 
ment,  not  of  the  majority,  but  of  the  commanding  class.  Its 
editors  know  better  than  to  defend  Russia,  or  Austria,  or 
English  vested  rights,  on  abstract  grounds.  But  they  give  a 
voice  to  the  class  who,  at  the  moment,  take  the  lead  ;  and 
they  have  an  instinct  for  finding  where  the  power  now  lies, 
wfiich  is  eternally  shifting  its  banks.  Sympathizing  with, 
an.l  speaking  for  the  class  that  rules  the  hour,  yet,  being  ap 
prised  of  every  ground-swell,  every  Chartist  resolution,  every 
Church  squabble,  every  strike  in  the  mills,  they  detect  the 
first  tremblings  of  change.  Tli3y  watch  the  hard  and  bitter 
straggles  of  the  authors  of  each  liberal  movement,  year  by 
year,  —  watching  them  only  to  taunt  and  obstruct  them,  — 
until,  at  last,  when  they  see  that  these  have  established  their 
fact,  that  power  is  on  the  point  of  passing  to  them,  they  strike 
in,  with  the  voice  of  a  monarch,  astonish  those  whom  they 
succor,  as  much  as  those  whom  they  desert,  and  make  victory 
sure.  Of  course,  the  aspirants  see  that  the  "  Times  "  is  one 
of  the  goods  of  fortune,  not  to  be  won  but  by  winning  their  cause. 

"  Punch  "  is  equally  an  expression  of  English  good  sense,  as 
the  "  London  Times."  It  is  the  comic  version  of  the  same 
sense.  Many  of  its  caricatures  are  equal  to  the  best  pamph 
lets,  and  will  convey  to  the  eye  in  an  instant  the  popular  view 
which  was  taken  of  each  turn  of  public  affairs.  Its  sketches 
are  usually  made  by  masterly  hands,  and  sometimes  with 
genius ;  the  delight  of  every  class,  because  uniformly  guided 
by  that  taste  which  is  tyrannical  in  England.  It  is  a  new 
trait  of  the  nineteenth  century,  that  the  wit  and  humor  of 
England,  as  in  Punch,  so  in  the  humorists,  Jerrold,  Dickens, 
Thackeray,  Hood,  have  taken  the  direction  of  humanity  and 
freedom. 

The  "  Times,"  ii&e  every  important  institution,  shows  the 


STOXEHENGE.  291 

way  to  a  better.  It  is  a  living  index  of  the  colossal  British 
power.  Its  existence  honors  the  people  who  dare  to  print  all 
thev  know,  dare  to  know  all  the  facts,  and  do  not  wish  to  be 
flattered  by  hiding  the  extent  of  the  public  disaster.  There 
is  always  safety  in  valor.  1  wish  I  could  add,  that  this  journal 
aspired  to  deserve  the  power  it  wields,  by  guidance  of  the  public 
sentiment'to  the  right.  It  is  usually  pretended,  in  Parliament 
and  elsewhere,  that  the  English  press  has  a  high  tone, —  which 
it  has  not.  It  has  an  imperial  tone,  as  of  a  powerful  and  inde 
pendent  nation.  But  as  with  other  empires,  its  tone  is  prone 
to  be  official,  and  even  officinal.  The  "  Times"  shares  all  the 
limitations  of  the  governing  classes,  and  wishes  never  to  be  in 
a  minority.  If  only  it  dared  to  cleave  to  the  right,  to  show  the 
right  to  be  the  only  expedient,  and  feed  its  batteries  from  the 
central  heart  of  humanity,  it  might  not  have  so  many  men  of 
rank  among  its  contributors,  but  genius  would  be  its  cordial 
and  invincible  ally  ;  it  might  now  and  then  bear  the  brunt 
of  formidable  combinations,  but  no  journal  is  ruined  by  wise 
courage.  It  would  be  the  natural  leader  of  British  reform  ;  its 
proud  function,  that  of  being  the  voice  of  Europe,  the  defender 
of  the  exile  and  patriot  against  despots,  would  be  more  effectu 
ally  discharged  ;  it  would  have  the  authority  which  is  claimed 
for  that  dream  of  good  men  not  yet  come  to  pass,  an  Interna 
tional  Congress  ;  and  the  least  of  its  victories  would  be  to  give 
to  England  a  new  millennium  of  beneficent  power. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

STONEHENGE. 

IT  had  been  ajxreed  between  mv  friend  Mr.  C.  and  me,  that 
before  I  left  England  we  should  make  an  excursion  together 
to  Stonehenge,  which  neither  of  us  had  seen  ;  and  the  project 
pleased  my  fancy  with  the  double  attraction  of  the  monument 
and  the  companion.  It  seemed  a  brhuriiiir  together  of  extreme 
points,  to  visit  the  oldest  religious  monument  in  Britain,  in 
company  with  her  latest  thinker,  and  one  whose  influence  may 
be  traced  in  every  contemporary  book.  I  was  glad  to  sum  up 
a  little  my  experiences,  and  to  exchange  a  few  reasonable  words 
on  the  aspects  of  England,  with  a  man  on  whose  genius  I  set 


292  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

a  very  high  value,  and  who  had  as  much  penetration,  and  as 
severe  a  theory  of  duty  as  any  person  in  it.  On  Friday,  7th 
July,  we  took  the  Southwestern  Railway  through  Hampshire 
to  Salisbury,  where  we  found  a  carriage  to  convey  us  to  Ames- 
bury.  The  fine  weather  and  my  friend's  local  knowledge  of 
Hampshire,  in  which  he  is  wont  to  spend  a  part  of  every  summer, 
made  the  way  short.  There  was  much  to  say,  too,  of  the  trav 
elling  Americans,  and  their  usual  objects  in  London.  I  thought 
it  natural,  that  they  should  give  some  time  to  works  of  art 
collected  here,  which  they  cannot  find  at  home,  and  a  little  to 
scientific  clubs  and  museums,  which,  at  this  moment,  make 
London  very  attractive.  But  my  philosopher  was  not  con 
tented.  Art  and  *  high  art '  is  a  favorite  target  for  his  wit. 
"  Yes,  Kunst  is  a  great  delusion,  and  Goethe  and  Schiller 
wasted  a  great  deal  of  good  time  on  it "  :  —  and  he  thinks  he 
discovers  that  old  Goethe  found  this  out,  and,  in  his  later  writ 
ings,  changed  his  tone.  As  soon  as  men  begin  to  talk  of  art, 
architecture,  and  antiquities,  nothing  good  comes  of  it.  He 
wishes  to  go  through  the  British  Museum  in  silence,  and  thinks 
a  sincere  man  will  see  something,  and  say  nothing.  In  these 
days,  he  thought,  it  would  become  an  architect  to  consult  only 
the  grim  necessity,  and  say,  *  I  can  build  you  a  coffin  for  such 
dead  persons  as  you  are,  and  for  such  dead  purposes  as  you 
have,  but  you  shall  have  no  ornament.'  For  the  science,  he 
had,  if  possible,  even  less  tolerance,  and  compared  the  savans 
of  Somerset  House  to  the  boy  who  asked  Confucius  "  how  many 
stars  in  the  sky]"  Confucius  replied,  "he  minded  things  near 
him  "  ;  then  said  the  boy,  "  how  many  hairs  are  there  in  your 
eyebrows  ]  "  Confucius  said,  "he  did  n't  know  and  didn't  care." 
"  Still  speaking  of  the  Americans,  C.  complained  that  they 
dislike  the  coldness  and  exclusiveness  of  the  English,  and  run 
away  to  France,  and  go  with  their  countrymen,  and  are  amused, 
instead  of  manfully  staying  in  London,  and  confronting  English 
men,  and  acquiring  their  culture,  who  really  have  much  to 
teach  them. 

I  told  C.  that  T  was  easily  dazzled,  and  was  accustomed  to 
concede  readily  all  that  an  Englishman  would  ask  ;  I  saw 
everywhere  in  the  country  proofs  of  sense  and  spirit,  and  suc 
cess  of  every  sort  :  I  like^the  people  :  they  are  as  good  as  they 
are  handsome  ;  they  have  everything,  and  can  do  everything  : 
but  meantime,  I  surely  know,  that,  as  soon  as  I  return  to 
Massachusetts,  I  shall  lapse  at  once  into  the  feeling,  which  the 
geography  of  America  inevitably  inspires,  that  we  play  the 


STONEHEXGE.  293 

game  with  immense  advantage  ;  that  there  and  not  here  is  the 
seat  ami  cent  iv  of  tin-  IJrit  i>h  nice  ;  and  that  no  skill  or  activity 
can  long  compete  with  the  prodigious  natural  advantages  of 
that  country,  in  the  hands  of  t  ho  same  race  :  and  that  Kngland, 
an  old  and  exhausted  island,  must  one  day  he  contented,  like 
other  parents,  to  lie  strong  only  in  her  children.  But  this  was 
a  proposition  which  no  Englishman  of  whatever  condition  can 
easily  entertain. 

\Ye  left  the  train  at  Salisbury,  and  took  a  carriage  to  Ames- 
hurv.  passing  by  ( >ld  Saruiu,  a  bare,  treeless  hill,  once  containing 
the  town  which  sent  two  members  to  Parliament,  —  now,  not 
a  hut  ;  —  and,  arriving  at  Amesbury,  stopped  at  the  George 
Inn.  After  dinner,  we  walked  to  Salisbury  Plain.  On  the 
broad  downs,  under  the  gray  sky,  not  a  house  was  visible, 
nothing  but  Stonehenge,  which  looked  like  a  group  of  brown 
dwarfs  in  the  wide  expanse,  —  Stonehenge  and  the  barrows,  — 
which  rose  like  green  bosses  about  the  plain,  and  a  few  hay 
ricks.  On  the  top  of  a  mountain,  the  old  temple  would 
not  be  more  impressive.  Far  and  wide  a  few  shepherds 
with  their  flocks  sprinkled  the  plain,  and  a  bagman  drove 
along  the  road.  It  looked  as  if  the  wide  margin  given 
in  this  crowded  isle  to  this  primeval  temple  were  accorded  by 
the  veneration  of  the  British  race  to  the  old  egg  out  of  which 
all  their  ecclesiastical  structures  and  history  had  proceeded. 
Stonehenge  is  a  circular  colonnade  with  a  diameter  of  a 
hundred  feet,  and  enclosing  a  second  and  a  third  colon 
nade  within.  We  walked  round  the  stones,  and  clambered 
over  them,  to  wont  ourselves  with  their  strange  aspect  and 
groupings,  and  found  a  nook  sheltered  from  the  wind  among 
them,  where  C.  lighted  his  cigar.  It  was  pleasant  to  see,  that, 
just  this  simplest  of  all  simple  structures,  —  two  upright 
stones  and  a  lintel  laid  across,  — had  long  outstood  all  later 
churches,  and  all  history,  and  were  like  what  is  most  perma 
nent  on  the  face  of  the  planet  :  these,  and  the  barrows,  — • 
mere  mounds  (of  which  there  are  a  hundred  and  sixty  within 
a  circle  of  three  miles  about  Stonehenge),  like  the  same  mound 
on  the  plain  of  Troy,  which  still  makes  good  to  the  passing 
mariner  on  Hellespont,  the  vaunt  of  Homer  and  the  fame  of 
Achilles.  Within  the  enclosure  --row  buttercups,  nettles,  and, 
all  around,  wild  thyme,  daisy,  meadow-sweet,  golden-rod,  thistle, 
and  the  carpeting  grass.  Over  us,  larks  were  soaring  and 
singing,  —  as  my  friend  said  :  ''  the  larks  which  were  hatched 
last  year,  and  the  wind  which  was  hatched  many  thousand 


294  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

years  ago."  We  counted  and  measured  by  paces  the  biggest 
stones,  and  soon  knew  as  much  as  any  man  can  suddenly  know 
of  the  inscrutable  temple.  There  are  ninety-four  stones,  and 
there  were  once  probably  one  hundred  and  sixty.  The  temple 
is  circular,  and  uncovered,  and  the  situation  tixed  astronomi 
cally,  —  the  grand  entrances  here,  and  at  Abury,  being  placed 
exactly  northeast,  "  as  all  the  gates  of  the  old  cavern  temples 
are."  How  came  the  stones  here?  for  these  sarsens  or  Dru- 
idical  sandstones,  are  not  found  in  this  neighborhood.  The 
sacrificial  stone,  as  it  is  called,  is  the  only  one  in  all  these 
blocks,  that  can  resist  the  action  of  fire,  and  as  I  read  in  the 
books,  must  have  been  brought  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles. 

On  almost  every  stone  we  found  the  marks  of  the  mineral 
ogist's  hammer  and  chisel.  The  nineteen  smaller  stones  of 
the  inner  circle  are  of  granite.  I,  who  had  just  come  from 
Professor  Sedgwick's  Cambridge  Museum  of  megatheria  and 
mastodons,  was  ready  to  maintain  that  some  cleverer  elephants 
or  mylodonta  had  borne  off  and  laid  these  rocks  one  on  anoth 
er.  Only  the  good  beasts  must  have  known  how  to  cut  a  well- 
wrought  tenon  and  mortise,  and  to  smooth  the  surface  of 
some  of  the  stones.  The  chief  mystery  is,  that  any  mystery 
should  have  been  allowed  to  settle  on  so  remarkable  a  monu 
ment,  in  a  country  on  which  all  the  muses  have  kept  their 
eyes  now  for  eighteen  hundred  years.  We  are  not  yet  too  late  to 
learn  much  more  than  is  known  of  this  structure.  Some 
diligent  Fellowes  or  Layard  will  arrive,  stone  by  stone,  at  the 
whole  history,  by  that  exhaustive  British  sense  and  persever 
ance,  so  whimsical  in  its  choice  of  objects,  which  leaves  its 
own  Stonehenge  or  Choir  Gaur  to  the  rabbits,  whilst  it  opens 
pyramids,  and  uncovers  Nineveh.  Stonehenge,  in  virtue  of 
the  simplicity  of  its  plan,  and  its  good  preservation,  is  as  if 
new  and  recent ;  and,  a  thousand  years  hence,  men  will  thank 
this  age  for  the  accurate  history  it  will  yet  eliminate.  We 
walked  in  and  out,  and  took  again  and  again  a  fresh  look  at 
the  uncanny  stones.  The  old  sphinx  put  our  petty  differences 
of  nationality  out  of  sight.  To  these  conscious  stones  we  two 
pilgrims  were  alike  known  and  near.  We  could  equally  well  re 
vere  their  old  British  meaning.  My  philosopher  was  subdued 
and  gentle.  In  this  quiet  house  of  destiny,  he  happened  to  say, 
"  I  plant  cypresses  wherever  I  go,  and  if  I  am  in  search  of  pain, 
I  cannot  go  wrong."  The  spot,  the  gray  blocks,  and  their  rude 
order,  which  refuses  to  be  disposed  of,  suggested  to  him  the 
flight  of  ages,  and  the  succession  of  religions.  The  old  times 


STONKHKNiiK.  205 

of  England  impress  ('.  much  :  he  reads  little,  lie  says,  in  these 
last  years,  l.nt  "  A<1,t  ,s'<///, •/<//•//;,/,"  t lie  fifty-three  vi'lunies  of 
which  are  in  the  "  London  Library."  lie  tind>  all  English 
history  tlu  rein.  lie  e;m  M  e,  as  he  reads,  the  old  saint  <>f  lona 
sitting  there,  mid  writing,  a  man  to  men.  The  A<1<i  X<iin-f<innii 
show  plainly  that  the  men  of  tho>e  times  believed  in  (Jod,  and 
in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  us  their  alleys  and  cathedrals 
testily  :  now,  even  the  puritanisin  is  all  gone.  London  is 
pagan.  He  fancied  that  mvater  men  had  lived  in  England 
than  any  of  her  writers  :  and.  in  fact,  ahout  the  time  when 
those  \\riters  appeared,  the  last  of  these  were  already  gone. 

We  left  the  mound  in  the  twilight,  with  the  design  to  re 
turn  the  next  morning,  and  coming  I  nick  two  miles  to  our  inn, 
we  were  met  hy  little  showers,  and  late  as  it  was,  men  and 
women  were  out  attempting  to  protect  their  spread  wind-rows. 
The  grass  grows  rank  and  dark  in  the  showery  Kngland.  At 
the  inn,  there  wa.s  only  milk  for  one  cup  of  tea.  When  we 
culled  tor  more,  the  girl  liroiight  us  three  drops.  My  friend 
was  annoyed  who  stood  for  the  credit  of  an  English  inn,  and 
still  more,  the  next  morning,  hy  the  dog-curt,  sole  procurable 
vehicle,  in  which  we  were  to  be  sent  to  Wilton.  J  engaged 
the  local  antiquary,  Mr.  Brown,  to  go  with  us  to  Stonehenge, 
on  our  wav,  and  show  us  what  he  knew  of  the  "astronomical" 
and  "  sacrificial  v  stones.  1  stood  on  the  last,  and  he  pointed 
to  the  upright,  or  rather,  inclined  stone,  called  the  "astro 
nomical,"  and  bade  me  notice  that  its  top  ranged  with  the  sky 
line.  "Yes."  Very  well.  Now,  at  the  summer  solstice,  the 
sun  rises  exactly  over  the  top  of  that  stone,  and,  at  the  Dru- 
idical  temple  at  A  bury,  there  is  also  an  astronomical  stone,  in 
the  same  relative  positions. 

In  the  silence  of  tradition,  this  one  relation  to  science  be 
comes  an  important  dew  :  but  we  were  content  to  leave  the 
problem,  with  the  rocks.  Was  this  the  "  (J hints'  Dance  "  which 
Merlin  brought  from  Killaraus,  in  Ireland,  to  be  I'ther  I'cn- 
dra uon's  monument  to  the  British  nobles  whom  Hengist 
slaughtered  here,  as  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth  relates?  or  was  it 
a  IJoinan  work,  as  Inigo  Jones  explained  to  King. lames;  or 
identical  in  design  and  stylo  with  the  East  Indian  temples  of 
tin-  sun  ;  as  Davies  in  the  Celtic  Researches  maintains  1  Of 
all  the  writers.  Stukeley  is  the  best.  The  heroic  antiquary, 
charmed  with  the  geometric  perfections  of  his  ruin,  connects 
it  with  the  oldest  monuments  and  religion  of  the  world,  and, 
with  the  courage  of  his  tribe,  does  not  stick  to  say,  "  the 


296  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

Deity  who  made  the  world  by  the  scheme  of  Stonehenge." 
He  finds  that  the  cursus  *  on  Salisbury  Plain  stretches  across 
the  downs,  like  a  line  of  latitude  upon  the  globe,  and  the 
meridian  line  of  Stonehenge  passes  exactly  through  the  middle 
of  this  cursus.  But  here  is  the  high  point  of  the  theory  :  the 
Druids  had  the  magnet ;  laid  their  courses  by  it ;  their  cardinal 
points  in  Stonehenge,  Ambresbury,  and  elsewhere,  which  vary 
a  little  from  true  east  and  west,  followed  the  variations  of  the 
compass.  The  Druids  were  Phoenicians.  The  name  of  the 
magnet  is  lapis  Heracleus,  and  Hercules  was  the  god  of  the 
Phoenicians,  Hercules,  in  the  legend,  drew  his  bow  at  the 
sun,  and  the  sun-god  gave  him  a  golden  cup,  with  which  he 
sailed  over  the  ocean.  What  was  this,  but  a  compass-box  ? 
This  cup  or  little  boat,  in  which  the  magnet  was  made  to  float 
on  water,  and  so  show  the  north,  was  probably  its  first  form, 
before  it  was  suspended  on  a  pin.  But  science  was  an  ar 
canum,  and,  as  Britain  was  a  Phoenician  secret,  so  they  kept 
their  compass  a  secret,  and  it  was  lost  with  the  Tyrian  com 
merce.  The  golden  fleece,  again,  of  Jason,  was  the  compass, 
—  a  bit  of  loadstone,  easily  supposed  to  be  the  only  one  in 
the  world,  and  therefore  naturally  awakening  the  cupidity  and 
ambition  of  the  young  heroes  of  a  maritime  nation  to  join  in 
an  expedition  to  obtain  possession  of  this  wise  stone.  Hence 
the  fable  that  the  ship  Argo  was  loquacious  and  oracular. 
There  is  also  some  curious  coincidence  in  the  names.  Apol- 
lodorus  makes  Magnes  the  son  of  sEolus,  who  married  Nais. 
On  hints  like  these,  Stukeley  builds  again  the  grand  colonnade 
into  historic  harmony,  and  computing  backward  by  the  known 
variations  of  the  compass,  bravely  assigns  the  year  406  be 
fore  Christ  for  the  date  of  the  temple. 

For  the  difficulty  of  handling  and  carrying  stones  of  this 
size,  the  like  is  done  in  all  cities,  every  day,  with  no  other 
aid  than  horse-power.  I  chanced  to  see  a  year  ago  men 
at  work  on  the  substructure  of  a  house  in  Bowdoin  Square,  in 
Boston,  swinging  a  block  of  granite  of  the  size  of  the  largest 
of  the  Stonehenge  columns  with  an  ordinary  derrick.  The 
men  were  common  masons,  with  paddies  to  help,  nor  did  they 
think  they  were  doing  anything  remarkable.  I  suppose  there 

*  Connected  with  Stonehenge  are  an  avenue  and  a  cursus.  The  avenue  is 
a  narrow  road  of  raised  earth,  extending  594  yards  in  a  straight  line  from  the 
grand  entrance,  then  dividing  into  two  branches,  which  lead,  severally,  to  a  row 
of  barrows :  and  to  the  cnrsus,  —  an  artificially  formed  flat  tract  of  groi'md.  This 
is  half  a  mile  northeast  from  Stonehenge,  bounded  by  banks  and  ditches,  3036 
yards  long,  by  110  broad. 


STOXEIIENGE.  297 

were  as  good  men  a  thousand  years  ago.  And  we  wonder  how 
Stoiiehcnue  uas  built  and  forgotten.  After  spending  iialf  an 
hour  on  the  spot,  we  sot  forth  in  our  dog-cart  over  the  downs 
for  WiHon,  C.  not  suppressing  some  threats  and  evil  omens 
on  the  proprietors,  for  keeping  these  broad  plains  a  wretch  d 
sheep-walk  when  so  many  thousands  of  Englishmen  were  hun- 
grv  and  wanted  labor.  But  1  heard  afterwards  that  it  is  not 
an  economy  to  eultivate  this  land,  which  only  yields  one  crop 
on  being  broken  up,  and  is  then  spoiled. 

AVe  eame  to  Wilton  and  to  Wilton  Hall, — the  renowned  seat 
of  the  Earls  of  Pembroke,  a  house  known  to  Shakespeare  and 
Mas-iimvr,  the  frequent  home  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney  where  he 
wrote  the  Aivadia  ;  where  he  conversed  with  Lord  Brooke,  a 
man  of  deep  thought,  and  a  poet,  who  caused  to  be  en-raved 
on  his  t<»mhst«>nr,  "  Here  lies  Fulke  (Jreville  Lord  Brooke,  the 
friend  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney."  It  is  now  the  property  of  the 
Earl  of  Pembroke,  and  the  residence  of  his  brother,  Sidney 
Herbert.  Esq.,  and  is  esteemed  a  noble  specimen  of  the  English 
manor-hall.  My  friend  had  a  letter  from  Mr.  Herbert  to  his 
housekeeper,  and  the  house  was  shown.  The  state  drawing- 
room  is  a  double  cube,  thirty  feet  hiuh,  by  thirty  wide,  by 
sixty  feet  long :  the  adjoining  room  is  a  single  cube,  of  thirty 
feet  everv  way.  Although  these  apartments  and  the  long  library 
were  full  of  good  family  portraits,  Vandykes  and  other  :  and 
though  there  were  some  good  pictures,  and  a  quadrangle  cloister 
full  of  antique  and  modern  statuary,  —  to  which  C.,  catalogue 
in  hand,  did  all  too  much  justice, — yet  the  eye  was  still  drawn 
to  the  windows,  to  a  magnificent  lawn,  on  which  grew  the 
finest  cedars  in  Fnirland.  I  had  not  seen  more  charming 
grounds.  We  went  out,  and  walked  over  the  estate.  \\  e 
I  a  bridge  built  by  Inigo  Jones  over  a  stream,  of  which 
the  gardener  did  not  know  the  name,  ((Jn.  Alph '?)  watched  the 
deer:  climbed  to  the  lonely  sculptured  summer-house,  on  a  hill 
backed  by  a  wood  ;  came  down  into  the  Italian  garden,  and 
into  a  French  pavilion,  garnished  with  French  busts;  and  so, 
ugain  to  the  house,  where  we  found  a  table  laid  for  us  with 
bn  ad.  meat<.  peaches,  Crapes,  and  wine. 

On  leaving  Wilton  House,  we  took  the  coach  for  Salisbury. 
The  Cathedral  which  was  finished  six  hundred  years  a-o  has 
even  a  spruce  and  modern  air,  and  its  spire  is  the  highest  in  Fug- 
land.  I  know  not  why,  but  I  had  been  more  struck  with  one  of 
no  lame  at  Coventry,  which  rises  three  hundred  feet  from  the 
ground,  with  the  lightness  of  a  mullein-plant,  and  not  at  all 
13* 


298  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

implicated  with  the  church.  Salisbury  is  now  esteemed  the 
culmination  of  the  Gothic  art  in  England,  as  the  buttresses 
are  fully  unmasked,  and  honestly  detailed  from  the  sides  of 
the  pile.  The  interior  of  the  Cathedral  is  obstructed  by  the 
organ  in  the  middle,  acting  like  a  screen.  I  know  not  why  in 
real  architecture  the  hunger  of  the  eye  for  length  of  line  is  so 
rarely  gratified.  The  rule  of  art  is  that  a  colonnade  is  more 
beautiful  the  longer  it  is,  and  that  ad  infinitum.  And  the 
nave  of  a  church  is  seldom  so  long  that  it  need  be  divided  by 
a  screen. 

We  loitered  in  the  church,  outside  the  choir,  whilst  service 
was  said.  Whilst  we  listened  to  the  organ,  my  friend  re 
marked,  the  music  is  good  and  yet  not  quite  religious,  but  some 
what  as  if  a  monk  were  panting  to  some  fine  Queen  of  Heaven. 
C.  was  unwilling,  and  we  did  not  ask  to  have  the  choir  shown 
us,  but  returned  to  our  inn,  after  seeing  another  old  church  of 
the  place.  We  passed  in  the  train  Clarendon  Park,  but  could 
Bee  little  but  the  edge  of  a  wood,  though  C.  had  wished  to  pay 
closer  attention  to  the  birthplace  of  the  Decrees  of  Clarendon. 
At  Bishopstoke  we  stopped,  and  found  Mr.  H.,  who  received  us 
in  his  carriage,  and  took  us  to  his  house  at  Bishops  Waltharn. 

On  Sunday,  we  had  much  discourse  on  a  very  rainy  day. 
My  friends  ask,  whether  there  were  any  Americans  1  —  any 
with  an  American  idea,  —  any  theory  of  the  right  future  of 
that  country  1  Thus  challenged,  I  bethought  myself  neither 
of  caucuses  nor  congress,  neither  of  presidents  nor  of  cabinet- 
ministers,  nor  of  such  as  would  make  of  America  another 
Europe.  I  thought  only  of  the  simplest  and  purest  minds ; 
I  said,  '  Certainly  yes  ;  but  those  who  hold  it  are  fanatics  of  a 
dream  which  I  should  hardly  care  to  relate  to  your  English 
ears,  to  which  it  might  be  only  ridiculous,  —  and  yet  it  is  the 
only  true.'  So  I  opened  the  dogma  of  no  government  and 
non-resistance,  and  anticipated  the  objections  and  the  fun,  and 
procured  a  kind  of  hearing  for  it.  I  said,  it  is  true  that  I  have 
never  seen  in  any  country  a  man  of  sufficient  valor  to  stand 
for  this  truth,  and  yet  it  is  plain  to  me  that  no  less  valor  than 
this  can  command  my  respect.  I  can  easily  see  the  bankrupt 
cy  of  the  vulgar  musket-worship,  —  though  great  men  be  mus 
ket-worshippers  ;  and  't  is  certain,  as  God  liveth,  the  gun  that 
does  not  need  another  gun,  the  law  of  love  and  justice  alone, 
can  effect  a  clean  revolution.  I  fancied  that  one  or  two  of  my 
anecdotes  made  some  impression  on  C.,  and  I  insisted  that  the 
manifest  absurdity  of  the  view  to  English  feasibility  could 


STONEHEXGE.  299 

make  no  difference  to  a  gentleman  ;  that  as  to  our  secure  ten 
ure  "f  our  mutton-chop  and  spinage  in  London  or  in  Huston, 
the  soul  might  quote  Talleyrand,  "  Mmndi-iir. }<•  n''~n  i»n'.*  /ms  hi. 
/'•V  *  As  I  hud  thus  taken  in  the  conversation  the 
saint's  part,  when  dinner  was  announced,  < '.  refused  to  go  out 
hrl'iiv  nu1,  —  "he  was  altogether  too  wicked/'  I  planted  my 
bark  against  the  wall,  and  our  host  wittily  resrued  us  from  the 
dilomm  i,  by  >  iving,  he  was  the  wickedest,  and  would  walk  out 
first,  thru  C.  f'llowed.  and  1  went  last. 

On  the  wav  to  Winchester,  whither  our  host  accompanied 
us  in  the  afternoon,  my  friends  asked  many  questions  respect 
ing  American  landscape,  forests,  houses,  —  my  house,  for  ex 
ample.  It  is  not  easy  to  answer  these  queries  well.  There  I 
thought,  in  America,  lies  nature  sleeping,  over-row  in  g,  almost 
conscious,  too  much  by  halt'  for  man  in  the  picture,  and  so  giv 
ing  a  certain  f/v'.sY<-x.xr,  like  the  rank  vegetation  of  swamps  and 
:  i  seen  at  night,  steeped  in  dews  and  rains,  which  it  loves; 
and  on  it  man  seems  not  able  to  make  much  impression. 
There,  in  that  great  sloven  continent,  in  high  Alleghany  pas- 
tuns,  in  the  sea-wide,  sky-skirted  prairie,  still  sleeps  and  mur 
murs  and  hides  the  great  mother,  long  since  driven  away  from 
the  trim  hedge-rows  and  over-cultivated  garden  of  England. 
And,  in  England,  1  am  quite  too  sensible  of  this.  Every  one 
is  on  his  good  behavior,  and  must  be  dressed  for  dinner  at 
six.  So  1  put  off  my  friends  with  very  inadequate  details,  as 
best  I  could. 

.lust  before  entering  Winchester,  we  stopped  at  the  Church 
of  Saint  Cross,  and.  after  looking  through  the  quaint  antiquity, 
we  demanded  a  piece  of  bread  and  a  draught  of  beer,  which 
the  founder,  Henry  de  Blois,  in  1136,  commanded  should  be 
given  to  every  one  who  should  ask  it  at  the  gate.  We  had 
both,  from  the  old  couple  who  take  care  of  the  church.  Some 
twenty  people,  every  day,  they  said,  make  the  same  demand. 
This  hospitality  of  seven  hundred  years'  standing  did  not  hin 
der  C.  from  pronouncing  a  malediction  on  the  priest  who  re 
ceives  £  L'lHH)  a  year,  that  were  meant  for  the  poor,  and  spends 
a  pittance  on  this  small  beer  and  crumbs. 

In  the  Cathedral,  1  was  gratified,  at  least  by  the  ample  di 
mensions.  The  length  of  line  exceeds  that  of  any  other  Eng 
lish  church  ;  being  ^~)<>  feet  by  L'."ii)  in  breadth  of  transept.  I 
think  I  prefer  this  church  to  all  I  have  seen,  except  Westmin 
ster  and  York.  Here  was  Canute  buried,  and  here  Alfred  the 

*  "  Mais,  Monseigneur,  ilfaut  qutfexitte." 


300  ENGLISH  TKAITS. 

Great  was  crowned  and  buried,  and  here  the  Saxon  kings  :  and, 
later,  in  his  own  church,  William  of  Wykeham.  It  is  very 
old  :  part  of  the  crypt  into  which  we  went  down  and  saw  the 
Saxon  and  Norman  arches  of  the  old  church  on  which  the 
present  stands,  was  built  fourteen  or  fifteen  hundred  years  ago. 
Sharon  Turner  says  :  "  Alfred  was  buried  at  Winchester,  in  the 
Abbey  he  had  founded  there,  but  his  remains  were  removed  by 
Henry  I.  to  the  new  Abbey  in  the  meadows  at  Hyde,  on  the 
northern  quarter  of  the  city,  and  laid  under  the  high  altar. 
The  building  was  destroyed  at  the  Reformation,  and  what  is 
left  of  Alfred's  body  now  lies  covered  by  modern  buildings,  or 
buried  in  the  ruins  of  the  old."  *  William  of  Wykeham's 
shrine  tomb  was  unlocked  for  us,  and  C.  took  hold  of  the  re 
cumbent  statue's  marble  hands,  and  patted  them  affectionate 
ly,  for  he  rightly  values  the  brave  man  who  built  Windsor,  and 
this  Cathedral,  and  the  School  here,  and  New  College  at  Ox 
ford.  But  it  was  growing  late  in  the  afternoon.  Slowly  we 
left  the  old  house,  and  parting  with  our  host,  we  took  tha, 
train  for  London. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

PERSONAL. 

I"  N  these  comments  on  an  old  journey  now  revised  after 
JL  seven  busy  years  have  much  changed  men  and  things  in 
England,  I  have  abstained  from  reference  to  persons,  except 
in  the  last  chapter,  and  in  one  or  two  cases  where  the  fame 
of  the  parties  seemed  to  have  given  the  public  a  property  in 
all  that  concerned  them.  I  must  further  allow  myself  a  few 
notices,  if  only  as  an  acknowledgment  of  debts  that  cannot 
be  paid.  My  journeys  were  cheered  by  so  much  kindness 
from  new  friends,  that  my  impression  of  the  island  is  bright 
with  agreeable  memories  both  of  public  societies  and  of  house 
holds  ;  and,  what  is  nowhere  better  found  than  in  England,  a 
cultivated  person  fitly  surrounded  by  a  happy  home,  "  with 
honor,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends,"  is  of  all  institutions 
the  best.  At  the  landing  in  Liverpool,  I  found  my  Manchester 
correspondent  awaiting  me,  a  gentleman  whose  kind  reception 
was  followed  by  a  train  of  friendly  and  effective  attentions 

*  History  of  the  Anglo-Saxons,  I.  599. 


PERSONAL.  301 

which  never  rested  whilst  1  remained  in  tlic  country.  A  man 
of  sense  and  of  letters,  the  editor  of  a  powerful  local  journal, 
he  added  to  solid  virtues  an  infinite  sweetness  and  l»>n /«>i/t///t< . 
There  seemed  a  pool  of  honey  about  his  heart  which  lubricat 
ed  all  his  speech  and  action  with  line  jets  of  mead.  An  equal 
good- fort une  attended  many  later  accidents  of  my  journey, 
until  the  sincerity  of  English  kindness  timed  to  surprise.  My 
visit  fell  in  the  fortunate  days  when  Mr.  Bancroft  was  the 
American  Minister  in  London,  and  at  his  house,  or  through 
'od  offices,  I  had  ea>y  access  to  excellent  persons  and  to 
privileged  places.  At  the  house  cf  Mr.  Carhle,  1  met  persons 
eminent  in  society  and  in  letters.  The  privileges  of  the 
Atlu meuni  and  of  the  Reform  Clubs  were  hospitably  opened 
to  me,  and  1  found  much  advantage  in  the  circles  of  the 
'•  Ceolo-'ic,"  the  "Antiquarian,"  and  the  "Royal  Societies." 
Every  day  in  London  gave  me  new  opportunities  of  meeting 
men  and  women  who  give  splendor  to  society.  I  saw  1  N-uers, 
llallam,  Macaulay,  Mimes,  Milman,  Barry  Cornwall,  Dickens, 
Thackeray,  Tennyson,  Leigh  Hunt,  D'lsraeli,  Helps,  AVilkin- 
soii.  liailcy,  Kenyon,  and  Forster  :  the  younger  poets,  Clouuh, 
Arnold,  and  Patmorc  ;  and,  among  the  men  of  science,  Robert 
Brown,  Owen,  Sedgwick,  Faraday,  Buckland,  Lyell,  De  la 
Beche,  Hooker,  Carpenter,  Babbage,  and  Kdward  Forbes.  It 
was  my  privilege  also  to  converse  with  Miss  llaillie,  with  Lady 
Morgan,  with  Mrs.  Jameson,  and  Mrs.  Somcrville.  A  finer  hos 
pitality  made  many  private  houses  not  less  known  and  dear. 
It  is  not  in  distinguished  circles  th.it  wisdom  and  elevated 
characters  are  usually  found,  or,  if  found,  not  confined  thereto ; 
and  my  recollections  of  the  best  hours  go  back  to  private  con 
versations  in  different  parts  of  the  kingdom,  with  persons  little 
known.  Nor  am  I  insensible  to  the  courtesy  which  frankly 
opened  to  me  some  noble  mansions,  if  I  do  not  adorn  my  j  ige 
with  their  names.  Among  the  privileges  of  London,  1  recall 
with  pleasure  two  or  three  signal  davs,  one  at  Kew,  where  Sir 
"William  Hooker  showed  me  all  the  riches  of  the  vast  botanic 
garden;  one  at  the  Museum,  where  Sir  Charles  Fellowes  ex 
plained  in  detail  the  history  of  his  Ionic  trophy-monument; 
and  still  another,  on  which'  Mr.  Owen  accompanied  my  coun 
tryman  Mr.  H.  and  myself  through  the  If  untenaii  Museum. 

The  like  frank  hospitality,  bent  on  real  service,  I  found 
aiiionir  the  great  and  the  humble,  wherever  I  went;  in  Bir 
mingham,  in  Oxford,  in  Leicester,  in  Nottingham,  in  Sheffield, 
in  Manchester,  in  Liverpool.  At  Edinburgh,  through  the 


302  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

kindness  of  Dr.  Samuel  Brown,  I  made  the  acquaintance  of 
DeQuincey,  of  Lord  Jeffrey,  of  Wilson,  of  Mrs.  Crowe,  of  the 
Messrs.  Chambers,  and  of  a  man  of  high  character  and  genius, 
the  short-lived  painter  David  Scott. 

At  Ambleside,  in  March,  1848,  I  was  for  a  couple  of  days 
the  guest  of  Miss  Martineau,  then  newly  returned  from  her 
Egyptian  tour.  On  Sunday  afternoon,  I  accompanied  her  to 
Rydal  Mount.  And  as  I  have  recorded  a  visit  to  Wordsworth, 
many  years  before,  I  must  not  forget  this  second  interview. 
We  found  Mr.  Wordsworth  asleep  on  the  sofa.  He  was  at  first 
silent  and  indisposed,  as  an  old  man,  suddenly  waked,  before 
he  had  ended  his  nap  ;  but  soon  became  full  of  talk  on  the 
French  news.  He  was  nationally  bitter  on  the  French  :  bitter 
on  Scotchmen,  too.  No  Scotchman,  he  said,  can  write  Eng 
lish.  He  detailed  the  two  models,  on  one  or  the  other  of 
which  all  the  sentences  of  the  historian  Robertson  are  framed. 
Nor  could  Jeffrey,  nor  the  Edinburgh  Reviewers  write  English, 
nor  can  ....  who  is  a  pest  to  the  English  tongue.  Incident 
ally  he  added,  Gibbon  cannot  write  English.  The  Edinburgh 
Review  wrote  what  would  tell  and  what  would  sell.  It  had 
however  changed  the  tone  of  its  literary  criticism  from  the 
time  when  a  certain  letter  was  written  to  the  editor  by  Cole 
ridge.  Mrs.  W.  had  the  Editor's  answer  in  her  possession. 
Tennyson  he  thinks  a  right  poetic  genius,  though  with  some 
affectation.  He  had  thought  an  elder  brother  of  Tennyson  at 
first  the  better  poet,  but  must  now  reckon  Alfred  the  true  one. 
....  In  speaking  of  I  know  not  what  style,  he  said,  "  To  be 
sure  it  was  the  manner,  but  then  you  know  the  matter  always 
comes  out  of  the  manner."  ....  He  thought  Rio  Janeiro  the 

best  place  in  the  world  for  a  great  capital  city We  talked 

of  English  national  character.  I  told  him  it  was  not  credit 
able  that  no  one  in  all  the  country  knew  anything  of  Thomas 
Taylor,  the  Platonist,  whilst  in  every  American  library  his  trans 
lations  are  found.  I  said,  if  Plato's  Republic  were  published  in 
England  as  a  new  book  to-day,  do  you  think  it  would  find  any 
readers  1  —  he  confessed,  it  would  not :  "  And  yet,"  he  added 
after  a  pause,  with  that  complacency  which  never  deserts  a 
true-born  Englishman,  —  "  and  yet  we  have  embodied  it  all." 

His  opinions  of  French,  English,  Irish,  and  Scotch  seemed 
rashly  formulized  from  little  anecdotes  of  what  had  befallen 
himself  and  members  of  his  family,  in  a  diligence  or  stage 
coach.  His  face  sometimes  lighted  up,  but  his  conversation 
was  not  marked  by  special  force  or  elevation.  Yet  perhaps  it 


PERSONAL.  303 

is  n  high  compliment  to  the  cultivation  of  the  English  gen 
erally,  when  we  find  such  a  man  not  distinguished  He  hud  a 
healthy  look,  with  a  \\eat her  beaten  face,  his  face  corrugated, 
especially  the  large  DOM, 

Miss  Martini-ail,  who  lived  near  him,  praised  him  to  me,  not 
for  his  p..«-try,  hut  for  thrift  and  economy  ;  fur  having  allbrded 
to  his  oountiy  neighbors  ao  example  of  a  modest  household, 
when1  comfort  and  culture  were  secured  without  any  display. 
She  said,  that,  in  his  early  housekeeping  at  the  cottage  where 
he  first,  lived,  he  was  accustomed  to  otter  his  friends  bread  and 
plainest  tare  :  if  they  wanted  anything  more,  they  must  pay 
liiiii  for  their  hoard.  It  was  the  rule  of  the  house.  I  replied, 
that  it  evinced  Knglish  pluck  more  than  anv  anecdote  I  knew. 
A  gentleman  in  the  neighborhood  told  the  story  of  Walter 
Scott's  once  staying  a  week  with  Wordsworth,  and  slipping  out 
every  day  under  pretence  of  a  walk,  to  the  Swan  Inn,  for  a 
cold  cut  and  porter;  and  one  day  passing  with  Wordsworth 
the  inn,  he  was  betrayed  by  the  landlord's  asking  him  if  he 
had  come  for  his  porter.  Of  course,  this  trait  would  have 
another  look  in  London,  and  there  you  will  hear  from  different 
literary  men,  that  Wordsworth  had  no  personal  friend,  that 
lie  was  not  amiable,  that  he  was  parsimonious,  «fec.  Landor, 
always  generous,  says  that  he  never  praised  anybodv.  A  gen 
tleman  in  London  showed  me  a  watch  that  once  belonged  to 
Milton,  whose  initials  are  engraved  on  its  face.  He  said,  he 
once  showed  this  to  Wordsworth,  who  took  it  in  one  hand,  then 
drew  out  his  own  watch,  and  held  it  up  with  the  other,  before 
the  company,  but  no  one  making  the  expected  remark,  he  put 
back  his  own  in  silence.  I  do  not  attach  much  importance 
to  the  disparagement  of  Wordsworth  among  London  scholars. 
Who  reads  him  well  will  know,  that  in  following  the  strong 
bent  of  his  genius,  he  was  careless  of  the  many,  careless  also 
of  the  few,  self-assured  that  he  should  "  create  the  taste  by 
which  he  is  to  be  enjoyed."  He  lived  IOIILT  enough  to  witness 
the  revolution  he  had  wrought,  and  "to  see  what  he  foresaw." 
There  an-  torpid  places  in  his  mind,  there  is  something  hard 
and  sterile  in  his  poetry,  want  of  grace  and  variety,  want  of 
due  catholicity  and  cosmopolitan  scope:  he  had  conformities 
to  Knu'lish  politics  and  traditions  :  he  had  egotistic  puerilities 
in  the  choice  and  treatment  of  his  subjects  ;  but  let  us  say  of 
him,  that,  alone  in  his  time,  he  treated  the  human  mind  well, 
and  with  an  absolute  trust.  His  adherence  to  his  poetic  creed 
rested  on  real  inspirations.  The  Ode  on  Immortality  is  the 


304  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

high-watermark  which  the  intellect  has  reached  in  this  age. 
New  means  were  employed,  and  new  realms  added  to  the  em 
pire  of  the  muse,  by  his  courage. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

RESULT. 

ENGLAND  is  the  best  of  actual  nations.  It  is  no  ideal 
framework,  it  is  an  old  pile  built  in  different  ages,  with 
repairs,  additions,  and  makeshifts  ;  but  you  see  the  poor  best 
you  have  got.  London  is  the  epitome  of  our  times,  and  the 
Rome  of  to-day.  Broad-fronted  broad-bottomed  Teutons,  they 
stand  in  solid  phalanx  foursquare  to  the  points  of  compass ; 
they  constitute  the  modern  world,  they  have  earned  their  van 
tage-ground,  and  held  it  through  ages  of  adverse  possession. 
They  are  well  marked  and  differing  from  other  leading  races. 
England  is  tender-hearted.  Rome  was  not.  England  is  not 
so  public  in  its  bias  ;  private  life  is  its  place  of  honor.  Truth 
in  private  life,  untruth  in  public,  marks  these  home-loving 
men.  Their  political  conduct  is  not  decided  by  general  views, 
but  by  internal  intrigues  and  personal  and  family  interest. 
They  cannot  readily  see  beyond  England.  The  history  of 
Rome  and  Greece,  when  written  by  their  scholars,  degenerates 
into  English  party  pamphlets.  They  cannot  see  beyond  Eng 
land,  nor  in  England  can  they  transcend  the  interests  of  the 
governing  classes.  "  English  principles  "  mean  a  primary  re 
gard  to  the  interests  of  property.  England,  Scotland,  and 
Ireland  combine  to  check  the  colonies.  England  and  Scotland 
combine  to  check  Irish  manufactures  and  trade.  England 
rallies  at  home  to  check  Scotland.  In  England,  the  strong 
classes  check  the  weaker.  In  the  home  population  of  near 
thirty  millions,  there  are  but  one  million  voters.  The  Church 
punishes  dissent,  punishes  education.  Down  to  a  late  day, 
marriages  performed  by  dissenters  were  illegal.  A  bitter  class- 
legislation  gives  power  to  those  who  are  rich  enough  to  buy  a 
law.  The  game-laws  are  a  proverb  of  oppression.  Pauperism 
incrusts  and  clogs  the  state,  and  in  hard  times  becomes  hideous. 
In  bad  seasons,  the  porridge  was  diluted.  Multitudes  lived 
miserably  by  shell-fish  and  sea-ware.  In  cities,  the  children 


RESULT.  305 

are  trained  to  beg,  until  they  shall  be  old  enough  to  rob.  Men 
and  women  \\ere  convicted  of  poison  ing  scores  of  children  for 
burial  lees.  In  Irish  districts,  men  deteriorated  in  si/.e  and 
shape.  The  nose  sunk,  the  gums  were  exposed,  with  dimin 
ished  brain  and  brutal  form.  During  the  Australian  emigra 
tion,  multitudes  were  rejected  by  the  commissioners  as  being 
too  emaciated  for  useful  colonists.  During  the  Russian  war, 
few  of  those  that  ottered  as  recruits  were  found  up  to  the 
medical  standard,  though  it  had  been  reduced. 

The  foreign  policy  of  England,  though  ambitious  and  lavish 
of  money,  has  not  often  been  generous  or  just.  It  has  a  prin 
cipal  regard  to  the  interest  of  trade,  checked  however  by  the 
aristocratic  bias  of  the  ambassador,  which  usually  puts  him 
in  sympathy  with  the  continental  Courts.  It  sanctioned  the 
partition  of  Poland,  it  betrayed  Genoa,  Sicily,  Parga,  Greece, 
Turkey,  Rome,  and  Hungary. 

Some  public  regards  they  have.  They  have  abolished  slav 
ery  in  the  West  Indies,  ami  put  an  end  to  human  sacrifices  in 
the  East.  At  home  they  have  a  certain  statute  hospitality. 
England  keeps  open  doors,  as  a  trading  country  must,  to  all 
nations.  It  is  one  of  their  fixed  ideas,  and  \\rathfnlly  sup 
ported  by  their  laws  in  unbroken  sequence  fora  thousand  years. 
In  Milt/mi  Cli'trt't  it  was  ordained,  that  all  "•merchants  shall 
have  safe  and  secure  conduct  to  go  out  and  come  into  England, 
and  to  stay  there,  and  to  pass  as  well  by  land  as  by  water,  to 
buv  and  sell  by  the  ancient  allowed  customs,  without  any  evil 
toll,  except  in  time  of  war,  or  when  they  shall  be  of  any  nation 
ut  war  with  us."  It  is  a  statute  and  obliged  hospitality,  and 
peremptorily  maintained.  But  this  shop-rule  had  one  magnifi 
cent  eliect.  It  extends  its  cold  unalterable  courtesy  to  political 
exiles  of  every  opinion,  and  is  a  fact  which  might  give  ad 
ditional  light  to  that  portion  of  the  planet  seen  from  the  farthest 
star.  But  this  perfunctory  hospitality  puts  no  sweetness  into 
their  unaccommodating  manners,  no  check  on  that  puissant 
.nationality  which  makes  their  existence  incompatible  with  all 
that  is  not  English. 

What  we  must  say  about  a  nation  is  a  superficial  dealing 
with  symptoms.  We  cannot  go  deep  enough  into  the  biography 
of  the  spirit  who  never  throws  himself  entire  into  one  hero,  hut 
delegates  his  energy  in  parts  or  spasms  to  vicious  and  defec 
tive  individuals.  But  the  wealth  of  the  source  is  seen  in  the 
plenitude  of  English  nature.  What  variety  of  power  and 
talent ;  what  facility  and  pleuteousuess  of  knighthood,  lord' 


306  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

ship,  ladyship,  royalty,  loyalty  ;  what  a  proud  chivalry  is  in 
dicated  in  "  Collins's  Peerage,"  through  eight  hundred  years  ! 
What  dignity  resting  on  what  reality  and  stoutness  !  What 
courage  in  war,  what  sinew  in  labor,  what  cunning  workmen, 
what  inventors  and  engineers,  what  seamen  and  pilots,  what 
clerks  and  scholars !  No  one  man  and  no  few  men  can  repre 
sent  them.  It  is  a  people  of  myriad  personalities.  Their 
many-headedness  is  owing  to  the  advantageous  position  of  the 
middle  class,  who  are  always  the  source  of  letters  and  science. 
Hence  the  vast  plenty  of  their  aesthetic  production.  As  they 
are  many-headed,  so  they  are  many-nationed  :  their  coloniza 
tion  annexes  archipelagoes  and  continents,  and  their  speech 
seems  destined  to  be  the  universal  language  of  men.  1  have 
noted  the  reserve  of  power  in  the  English  temperament.  In 
the  island,  they  never  let  out  all  the  length  of  all  the  reins, 
there  is  no  Berserkir  rage,  no  abandonment  or  ecstasy  of  will 
or  intellect,  like  that  of  the  Arabs  in  the  time  of  Mahomet,  or 
like  that  which  intoxicated  France  in  1789.  But  who  would 
see  the  uncoiling  of  that  tremendous  spring,  the  explosion  of 
their  well- husbanded  forces,  must  follow  the  swarms  which, 
pouring  now  for  two  hundred  years  from  the  British  islands, 
have  sailed,  and  rode,  and  traded,  and  planted,  through  all 
climates,  mainly  following  the  belt  of  empire,  the  temperate 
zones,  carrying  the  Saxon  seed,  with  its  instinct  for  liberty  and 
law,  for  arts  and  for  thought,  —  acquiring  under  some  skies  a 
more  electric  energy  than  the  native  air  allows,  —  to  the  con 
quest  of  the  globe.  Their  colonial  policy,  obeying  the  necessi 
ties  of  a  vast  empire,  has  become  liberal.  Canada  and  Aus 
tralia  have  been  contented  with  substantial  independence. 
They  are  expiating  the  wrongs  of  India,  by  benefits  :  first,  in 
works  for  the  irrigation  of  the  peninsula,  and  roads  and  tele 
graphs  ;  and  secondly,  in  the  instruction  of  the  people,  to 
qualify  them  for  self-government,  when  the  British  power  shall 
be  finally  called  home. 

Their  mind  is  in  a  state  of  arrested  development,  —  a  divine 
cripple  like  Vulcan ;  a  blind  savant  like  Huber  and  Sanderson. 
They  do  not  occupy  themselves  on  matters  of  general  and  last 
ing  import,  but  on  a  corporeal  civilization,  on  goods  that  perish 
in  the  using.  But  they  read  with  good  intent,  and  what  they 
learn  they  incarnate.  The  English  mind  turns  every  abstrac 
tion  it  can  receive  into  a  portable  utensil,  or  a  working  institu 
tion.  Such  is  their  tenacity,  and  such  their  practical  turn, 
that  they  hold  all  they  gain.  Hence  we  say,  that  only  the 


RESULT.  307 

English  race  can  In-  trusted  with  freedom, —  freedom  which  is 
double-edged  :in<l  dangerous  to  any  but  tin-  wise  and  robust. 
The  Knglish  designate  the  kingdoms  emulous  of  free  institu 
htimental  nations.  Their  own  culture  is  not 
an  outside  varnish,  hut  is  thorough  and  secular  in  iamilit  s  and 
the  race.  They  are  oppressive  with  their  temperament,  and 
all  the  more  that  they  are  refined.  1  have  sometimes  seen 
them  walk  with  my  countrymen  when  1  was  forced  to  allow 
them  every  advantage,  and  their  companions  seemed  bags  of 
boii«  s. 

There  is  cramp  limitation  in  their  habit  of  thought,  sleepy 
routine,  and  a  tort oise's  instinct  to  hold  hard  to  the  ground 
with  his  claws,  lest  he  should  be  thrown  on  his  back.  There 
is  a  drag  of  inertia  which  resists  reform  in  every  shape  :  law- 
reform,  army-reform,  extension  of  suffrage,  Jewish  franchise, 
Catholic  emancipation,  —  the  abolition  of  slavery,  of  impress 
ment,  penal  code,  and  entails.  They  praise  this  drag,  under 
the  formula,  that  it  is  the  excellence  of  the  British  constitu 
tion,  that  no  law  can  anticipate  the  public  opinion.  These 
poor  tortoises  must  hold  bard,  for  they  feel  no  wings  sprouting 
at  their  shoulders.  Yet  somewhat  divine  warms  at  their  heart, 
and  waits  a  happier  hour.  It  hides  in  their  sturdy  will. 
'•  Will,"  said  the  old  philosophy,  'k  is  the  measure  of  power," 
and  personality  is  the  token  of  this  race.  (jni<l  cult  /•<//</<  mlt. 
What  they  do  they  do  with  a  will.  You  cannot  account  for  their 
success  by  their  Christianity,  commerce,  charter,  common  law, 
Parliament,  or  letters,  but  by  the  contumacious  sharp-ton-iied 
energy  of  English  imttm-l,  with  a  poise  impossible  to  disturb, 
which  makes  all  these  its  instruments.  They  are  slow  and 
reticent,  and  are  like  a  dull  good  horse  which  lets  every  nag 
Mm  him,  but  with  whip  and  spur  will  run  down  every  racer 
in  the  field.  They  are  right  in  their  feeling,  though  wrong  in 
their  speculation. 

The  feudal  system  survives  in  the  steep  inequality  of  prop 
erty  and  privilege,  in  the  limited  franchise,  in  the  social  har 
riers  which  confine  patronage  and  promotion  to  a  taste,  and 
still  more  in  the  submissive  ideas  pervading  these  people.  The 
faLri-:ing  of  the  schools  is  repeated  in  the  social  classes.  An 
Eni_rlishman  shows  no  mercy  to  those  below  him  in  the  social 
scale,  as  he  looks  for  none  from  those  above-  him  :  any  for 
bearance  from  his  superiors  surprises  him.  and  they  suffer  in 
his  good  opinion.  But  the  feudal  system  can  be  seen  with  less 
pain  on  large  historical  grounds.  It  was  pleaded  in  mitigation 


308  ENGLISH   TRAITS. 

of  the  rotten  borough,  that  it  worked  well,  that  substantial 
justice  was  done.  Fox,  Burke,  Pitt,  Erskine,  Wilberforce, 
Sheridan,  Romilly,  or  whatever  national  man,  were  by  this 
means  sent  to  Parliament,  when  their  return  by  large  con 
stituencies  would  have  been  doubtful.  So  now  we  say,  that 
the  right  measures  of  England  are  the  men  it  bred ;  that  it 
has  yielded  more  able  men  in  five  hundred  years  than  any 
other  nation ;  and,  though  we  must  not  play  Providence,  and 
balance  the  chances  of  producing  ten  great  men  against  the 
comfort  of  ten  thousand  mean  men,  yet  retrospectively  we 
may  strike  the  balance,  and  prefer  one  Alfred,  one  Shakespeare, 
one  Milton,  one  Sidney,  one  Raleigh,  one  Wellington,  to  a  mil 
lion  foolish  democrats. 

The  American  system  is  more  democratic,  more  humane  ; 
yet  the  American  people  do  not  yield  better  or  more  able 
men,  or  more  inventions  or  books  or  benefits,  than  the  Eng 
lish.  Congress  is  not  wiser  or  better  than  Parliament.  France 
has  abolished  its  suffocating  old  regime,  but  is  not  recently 
marked  by  any  more  wisdom  or  virtue. 

The  power  of  performance  has  not  been  exceeded,  —  the 
creation  of  value.  The  English  have  given  importance  to 
individuals,  a  principal  end  and  fruit  of  every  society.  Every 
man  is  allowed  and  encouraged  to  be  what  he  is,  and  is  guarded 
in  the  indulgence  of  his  whim.  "  Magna  Charta,"  said  Rush- 
worth,  "  is  such  a  fellow  that  he  will  have  no  sovereign."  By 
this  general  activity,  and  by  this  sacredness  of  individuals, 
they  have  in  seven  hundred  years  evolved  the  principles  of 
freedom.  It  is  the  land  of  patriots,  martyrs,  sages,  and  bards, 
and  if  the  ocean  out  of  which  it  emerged  should  wash  it  away, 
it  will  be  remembered  as  an  island  famous  for  immortal  laws, 
for  the  announcements  of  original  right  which  make  the  stone 
tables  of  liberty. 


SPEECH   AT  MANCHESTER.  309 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

SPEECH    AT   MANCHESTER. 

A  FEW  days  after  my  arrival  at  Manchester,  in  Novem- 
J~\^  ber,  1847,  the  Manchester  Athenseum  gave  its  unnnal 
Banquet  in  the  Free-Trade  Hall.  With  other  guests,  I  was 
invited  to  he  present,  and  to  address  the  company.  In  look 
ing  over  recently  a  newspaper  report  of  my  remarks,  I  incline 
to  reprint  it,  as  fitly  expressing  the  feeling  with  which  1  entered 
Kngland,  and  which  agrees  well  i-nmigh  with  the  more  delib 
erate  results  of  better  acquaintance  recorded  in  the  foregoing 
pages.  Sir  Archibald  Alison,  the  historian,  presided,  and 
opened  the  meeting  with  a  speech.  He  was  followed  by  Mr. 
Cobden,  Lord  Brackley,  and  others,  among  whom  was  Mr. 
Cruikshank,  one  of  the  contributors  to  "Punch."  Mr.  Dick- 
ens's  letter  of  apology  for  his  absence  was  read.  Mr.  Jerrold, 
who  had  been  announced,  did  not  appear.  On  being  intro 
duced  to  the  meeting  I  said  :  — 

Mr.  Chairman  and  Gentlemen  :  It  is  pleasant  to  me  to  meet 
this  great  and  brilliant  company,  and  doubly  pleasant  to  see 
the  faces  of  so  many  distinguished  persons  on  this  platform. 
But  I  have  known  all  these  persons  already.  When  I  was  at 
home,  they  were  as  near  to  me  as  they  are  to  you.  The  ariru- 
ments  of  the  League  and  its  leader  are  known  to  all  the 
friends  of  free  trade.  The  irayeties  and  genius,  the  political, 
the  social,  the  parietal  wit  of  "  Punch "  go  duly  every  fort 
night  to  everv  bov  and  girl  in  Boston  and  New  York.  Sir, 
when  I  came  to  sea,  I  found  the  "History  of  Europe "  *  on 
tin  >hip's  cabin  table,  the  property  of  the  captain;  —  a  sort 
of  programme  or  play-bill  to  tell  the  seafaring  New-Ki inlander 
what  be  shall  tind  on  his  landing  here.  And  as  for  Dombey, 
sir,  there  is  no  land  where  paper  exists  to  print  on,  where  it  is 
not  found;  no  man  who  can  read,  that  does  not  read  it.  and, 
if  he  cannot,  he  finds  some  charitable  pair  of  eyes  that  can, 
and  hears  it. 

But  these  things  are  not  for  me  to  say ;  these  compliments, 
though  true,  would  better  come  from  one  who  felt  and  under- 

*  By  Sir  A.  Alison. 


310  ENGLISH  TRAITS. 

stood  these  merits  more.  I  am  not  here  to  exchange  civilities 
with  you,  but  rather  to  speak  of  that  which  I  am  sure  inter 
ests  these  gentlemen  more  than  their  own  praises ;  of  that 
which  is  good  in  holidays  and  working-days,  the  same  in 
one  century  and  in  another  century.  That  which  lures  a 
solitary  American  in  the  woods  with  the  wish  to  see  England, 
is  the  moral  peculiarity  of  the  Saxon  race,  —  its  commanding 
sense  of  right  and  wrong,  —  the  love  and  devotion  to  that,  — 
this  is  the  imperial  trait,  which  arms  them  with  the  sceptre 
of  the  globe.  It  is  this  which  lies  at  the  foundation  of  that 
aristocratic  character,  which  certainly  wanders  into  strange 
vagaries,  so  that  its  origin  is  often  lost  sight  of,  but  which,  if 
it  should  lose  this,  would  find  itself  paralyzed ;  and  in  trade, 
and  in  the  mechanic's  shop,  gives  that  honesty  in  performance, 
that  thoroughness  and  solidity  of  work,  which  is  a  national 
characteristic.  This  conscience  is  one  element,  and  the  other 
is  that  loyal  adhesion,  that  habit  of  friendship,  that  homage 
of  man  to  man,  running  through  all  classes,  —  the  electing  of 
worthy  persons  to  a  certain  fraternity,  to  acts  of  kindness  and 
warm  and  stanch  support,  from  year  to  year,  from  youth  to 
age,  —  which  is  alike  lovely  and  honorable  to  those  who  render 
and  those  who  receive  it ;  —  which  stands  in  strong  contrast 
with  the  superficial  attachments  of  other  races,  their  excessive 
courtesy,  and  short-lived  connection. 

You  will  think  me  very  pedantic,  gentlemen,  but  holiday 
though  it  be,  I  have  not  the  smallest  interest  in  any  holiday, 
except  as  it  celebrates  real  and  not  pretended  joys ;  and  I 
think  it  just,  in  this  time  of  gloom  and  commercial  disaster,  of 
affliction  and  beggary  in  these  districts,  that  on  these  very  ac 
counts  I  speak  of,  you  should  not  fail  to  keep  your  literary 
anniversary.  I  seem  to  hear  you  say,  that,  for  all  that  is 
come  and  gone  yet,  we  will  not  reduce  by  one  chaplet  or  one 
oak-leaf  the  braveries  of  our  annual  feast.  For  I  must  tell 
you,  I  was  given  to  understand  in  my  childhood,  that  the 
British  island  from  which  my  forefathers  came,  was  no  lotus- 
garden,  no  paradise  of  serene  sky  and  roses  and  music  and 
merriment  all  the  year  round,  no,  but  a  cold,  foggy,  mournful 
country,  where  nothing  grew  well  in  the  open  air,  but  robust 
men  and  virtuous  women,  and  these  of  a  wonderful  fibre  and 
endurance  ;  that  their  best  parts  were  slowly  revealed  ;  their 
virtues  did  not  come  out  until  they  quarrelled  :  they -did  not 
strike  twelve  the  first  time  ;  good  lovers,  good  haters,  and  you 
could  know  little  about  them  till  you  had  seen  them  long,  and 


SPEECH  AT   MANCHESTER.  311 

little  good  of  them  till  you  had  seen  them  in  action  ;  that  in 
prosperity  they  were  moody  and  dumpish,  hut  in  adversity 
they  were  grand.  Is  it  not  true,  sir,  that  the  wise  ancient 8 
did  not  praise  the  ship  parting  with  living  colors  from  the  port, 
but  only  that  brave  sailer  which  came  hack  with  torn  sheets 
and  battered  sides,  stript  of  her  banners,  but  having  ridden 
out  the  storm?  And  so,  gentlemen,  I  feel  in  regard  to  this 
Mil-land,  with  the  possessions,  honors  and  trophies,  and 
also  with  the  infirmities  of  a  thousand  years  gathering  around 
her,  irretrievably  committed  as  she  now  is  to  many  old  cus 
toms  which  cannot  be  suddenly  changed  ;  pressed  upon  by  the 
transitions  of  trade,  and  new  and  all  incalculable  modes, 
fabrics,  arts,  machines,  and  competing  populations, —  1  we 
her  not  dispirited,  not  weak,  but  well  remembering  that,  she 
has  seen  dark  days  before  ;  indeed,  with  a  kind  of  instinct  that 
she  sees  a  little  better  in  a  cloudy  day,  and  that  in  storm  of 
battle  and  calamity,  she  has  a  secret  vigor  and  a  pulse  like  a 
cannon.  I  see  her  in  her  old  age,  not  decrepit,  but  young,  and 
still  daring  to  believe  in  her  power  of  endurance  and  expan 
sion.  Seeing  this,  I  say,  All  hail !  mother  of  nations,  mother 
of  heroes,  with  strength  still  equal  to  the  time  ;  still  wise  to 
entertain  and  swift  to  execute  the  policy  which  the  mind  and 
heart  of  mankind  requires  in  the  present  hour,  and  thus  only 
hospitable  to  the  foreigner,  and  truly  a  home  to  the  thought 
ful  and  generous  who  are  born  in  the  soil.  So  be  it !  so  let  it 
be  !  If  it  be  not  so,  if  the  courage  of  England  goes  with  the 
chances  of  a  commercial  crisis,  I  will  go  back  to  the  capes  of 
Massachusetts,  and  my  own  Indian  stream,  and  say  to  my 
countrymen,  the  old  race  are  all  gone,  and  the  elasticity  and 
hope  of  mankind  must  henceforth  remain  on  the  Alleghauy 
ranges,  or  nowhere. 


CONDUCT    OF    LIFE. 


VOL.    II. 


I. 
FATE. 


Delicate  omens  traced  in  nir 
To  the  lone,  bard  true  witness  bare; 
Birds  with  auguries  on  their  wings 
chanted  ondeceiying  things 
Him  to  beckon,  him  to  warn; 
Well  might  then  the  poet  scorn 
To  learn  of  scribe  or  courier 
Hints  writ  in  vaster  character; 
And  on  his  mind,  at  dawn  of  day, 
Soft  shadows  of  the  evening  lay. 
For  the  prevision  is  allied 
Tnto  the  thing  so  signified; 
Or  say,  the  foresight  that  awaits 
Is  the  same  Genius  that  creatas. 


^ 


^ 

*r 

UNIVERSITY 


FATE. 


IT  chanced  during  one  winter,  a  few  years  ago,  that  our  cit- 
\vere  bent  on  disru>siuLr  the  theory  of  the  Age.  By 
mi  odd  coincidence,  four  or  live  noted  men  \\ere  each  reading 
*  discourse  to  the  citizens  of  Boston  or  New  York,  on  the 
Spirit  of  the  Times.  It  so  happened  that  the  subject  had  the 
same  prominence  in  some  remarkable  pamphlets  and  journals 
issued  m  London  in  the  same  season.  To  me,  however,  the 
question  of  the  times  resolved  itself  into  a  practical  question 
of  the  conduct  of  life.  ll<'\v  shall  1  live  \  We  are  incompe 
tent  to  solve  the  times.  Our  geometry  cannot  span  the  huge 
orbits  of  the  prevailing  ideas,  behold  their  return,  and  recon 
cile  their  opposition.  We  can  only  obey  our  own  polaritv. 
'T  is  fine  for  us  to  speculate  and  elect  our  course,  if  we  must 
accept  an  irresistible  dictation. 

In  our  first  steps  to  gain  our  wishes,  we  come  upon  immov 
able  limitations.  We  are  fired  with  the  hope  to  reform  men. 
After  many  experiments,  we  find  that  we  must  begin  earlier, 
—  at  school.  But  the  boys  and  girls  are  not  docile;  we  can 
make  nothing  of  them.  We  decide  that  they  are  not  of  good 
stock.  We  must  beirin  our  reform  earlier  still, — at  genera 
tion  :  that  is  to  say,  there  is  Fate,  or  laws  of  the  world. 

P»ut  if  there  be  irresistible  dictation,  this  dictation  under 
stands  itself.  If  we  must  accept  Fate,  we  are  not  less  com 
pelled  to  atlirm  liberty,  the  significance  of  the  individual,  the 
grandeur  of  duty,  the  power  of  character.  This  is  true,  and 
that  other  is  true.  But  our  geometry  cannot  span  these  ex-' 
treme  points,  and  reconcile  them.  What  to  do  \  \\\  obeying 
each  thought  frankly,  by  harping,  or,  if  you  will,  pounding  <>u 
each  >triiiLT.  \v«-  learn  at  last  its  power.  l»v  the  same  obedi 
ence  toother  thoughts,  we  learn  theirs,  and  then  comes  some 
reasonable  hope  of  harmonizing  them.  We  are  sure,  that, 


318  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

though  we  know  not  how,  necessity  does  comport  with  liberty, 
the  individual  with  the  world,  my  polarity  with  the  spirit  of 
the  times.  The  riddle  of  the  age  has  for  each  a  private  solu 
tion.  If  one  would  study  his  own  time,  it  must  be  by  this 
method  of  taking  up  in  turn  each  of  the  leading  topics  which 
belong  to.  our  scheme  of  human  life,  and,  by  firmly  stating  all 
that  is  agreeable  to  experience  on  one,  and  doing  the  same  jus 
tice  to  the  opposing  facts  in  the  others,  the  true  limitations 
will  appear.  Any  excess  of  emphasis,  on  one  part,  would  be 
corrected,  and  a  just  balance  would  be  made. 

But  let  us  honestly  state  the  facts.  Our  America  has  a  bad 
name  for  superficialness.  Great  men,  great  nations,  have  not 
been  boasters  and  buffoons,  but  perceivers  of  the  terror  of  life, 
and  have  manned  themselves  to  face  it.  The  Spartan,  embody 
ing  his  religion  in  his  country,  dies  before  its  majesty  without 
a  question.  The  Turk,  who  believes  his  doom  is  written  on 
the  iron  leaf  in  the  moment  when  he  entered  the  world,  rushes 
on  the  enemy's  sabre  with  undivided  will.  The  Turk,  the 
Arab,  the  Persian,  accepts  the  foreordained  fate. 

"  On  two  days,  it  steads  not  to  run  from  thy  grave, 

The  appointed,  and  the  unappointed  day; 
On  the  first,  neither  balm  nor  physician  can  save, 
Nor  thee,  on  the  second,  the  Universe  slay." 

The  Hindoo,  under  the  wheel,  is  as  firm.  Our  Calvinists,  in 
the  last  generation,  had  something  of  the  same  dignity.  They 
felt  that  the  weight  of  the  Universe  held  them  down  to  their 
place.  What  could  they  do  1  Wise  men  feel  that  there  is  some 
thing  which  cannot  be  talked  or  voted  away,  —  a  strap  or  belt 
which  girds  the  world. 

"  The  Destiny,  minister  general, 
That  executeth  in  the  world  o'er  all, 
The  purveyance  which  God  hath  seen  beforne, 
So  strong  it  is,  that  though  the  world  had  sworn 
The  contrary  of  a  thing 'by  yea  or  nay, 
Yet  sometime  it  shall  fallen  on  a  day 
That  falleth  not  oft  in  a  thousand  year; 
For,  certainly,  our  appetite's  here, 
Be  it  of  war,  or  peace,  or  hate,  or  love, 
All  this  is  ruled  by  the  sight  above." 

CHAUCER:   The  Knighte's  Tale. 

The  Greek  Tragedy  expressed  the  same  sense  :  "  Whatever 
is  fated,  that  will  take  place.  The  great  immense  mind  of  Jove 
is  not  to  be  transgressed." 

Savages  cling  to  a  local  god  of  one  tribe  or  town.  The 
broad  ethics  of  Jesus  were  quickly  narrowed  to  village  theolo- 


FATE.  319 

gies,  which  preach  an  election  or  favoritism.  And,  now  and 
then,  an  amiable  parson,  like  Jung  Stilling,  or  Robert  Hunting- 
ton,  believes  in  a  pistareen-Providence,  which,  whenever  tin- 
good  man  wants  a  dinner,  makes  that  somebody  shall  knock  at 
his  door,  and  leave  a  half-dollar.  But  Nature  is  no  senti 
mentalist,  — does  not  cosset  or  pamper  us.  We  must  see  that 
the  world  its  roiiuh  and  surly,  and  will  not  mind  drowning  a 
man  or  a  woman  ;  hut  swallows  your  ship  like  a  grain  of  dust. 
The  cold,  inconsiderate  of  persons,  tingles  your  blood,  benu ml >s 
your  feet,  freezes  a  man  like  an  apple.  The  diseases,  the  ele 
ments,  fortune,  gravity,  lightning,  respect  no  persons.  The 
way  of  Providence  is  a  little  rude.  The  habit  of  snake  and 
spider,  the  snap  of  the  tiger,  and  other  leapers  and  bloody 
jumpers,  the  crackle  of  the  bones  of  his  prey  in  the  coil  of  the 
anaconda,  — these  are  in  the  system,  and  our  habits  are  like 
theirs.  You  have  just  dined,  and,  however  scrupulously  the 
slaughter-house  is  concealed  in  the  graceful  distance  of  miles, 
there  is  complicity,  —  expensive  races,  —  race  living  at  the  ex 
pense  of  race.  The  planet  is  liable  to  shocks  from  comets,  per 
turbations  from  planets,  rendings  from  earthquake  and  volcano, 
alterations  of  climate,  precessions  of  equinoxes.  Rivers  dry 
up  by  opening  of  the  forest.  The  sea  changes  its  bed.  Towns 
and  counties  fall  into  it.  At  Lisbon,  an  earthquake  killed  men 
like  flies.  At  Naples,  three  years  ago,  ten  thousand  persons 
were  crushed  in  a  few  minutes.  The  scurvy  at  sea;  the 
sword  of  the  climate  in  the  west  of  Africa,  at  Cayenne,  at 
Panama,  at  New  Orleans,  cut  off  men  like  a  massacre.  Our 
rn  prairie  shakes  with  fever  and  ague.  The  cholera,  the 
small-pox,  have  proved  as  mortal  to  some  tribes,  as  a  frost  to 
the  crickets,  which,  having  filled  the  summer  with  noise,  are 
silenced  by  a  fall  of  tin-  temperature  of  one  night.  Without 
uncovering  what  does  not  concern  us,  or  counting  how  many 
species  of  parasites  hang  on  a  bombyx  ;  or  groping  after  in 
testinal  parasites,  or  infusory  biters,  or  the  obscurities  of  al 
ternate  generation  ;  —  the  forms  of  the  shark,  the  lalrus,  the 
jaw  of  the  sea-wolf  paved  with  crushing  teeth,  the  weapons 
of  the  grampus,  and  other  warriors  hidden  in  the  sea,  —  are 
hints  of  ferocity  in  the  interiors  of  nature.  Let  us  not  deny 
it  up  and  down.  Providence  has  a  wild,  rough,  incalculable 
road  to  its  end,  and  it  is  of  no  use  to  try  to  whitewash  its 
huLT'\  mixed  instrumentalities,  or  to  dress  up  that  terrific  bene 
factor  in  a  clean  shirt  and  white  neckcloth  of  a  student  in 
divinity. 


\\\ 


320  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

Will  you  say,  the  disasters  which  threaten  mankind  are  excep 
tional,  and  one  need  not  lay  his  account  for  cataclysms  every 
day  1  Ay,  but  what  happens  once  may  happen  again,  and  so 
long  as  these  strokes  are  not  to  be  parried  by  us,  they  must  be 
feared. 

But  these  shocks  and  ruins  are  less  destructive  to  us,  than 
the  stealthy  power  of  other  laws  which  act  on  us  daily.  An 
expense  of  ends  to  means  is  fate  ;  —  organization  tyrannizing 
over  character.  The  menagerie,  or  forms  and  powers  of  the 
spine,  is  a  book  of  fate  :  the  bill  of  the  bird,  the  skull  of  the 
snake,  determines  tyrannically  its  limits.  So  is  the  scale  of 
races,  of  temperaments ;  so  is  sex  ;  so  is  climate  ;  so  is  the 
reaction  of  talents  imprisoning  the  vital  power  in  certain  direc 
tions.  Every  spirit  makes  its  house  ;  but  afterwards  the  house 
confines  the  spirit. 

The  gross  lines  are  legible  to  the  dull  :  the  cabman  is  phre 
nologist  so  far  :  he  looks  in  your  face  to  see  if  his  shilling  is 
sure.  A  dome  of  brow  denotes  one  thing  ;  a  pot-belly  another ; 
a  squint,  a  pug-nose,  mats  of  hair,  the  pigment  of  the  epider 
mis,  betray  character.  People  seem  sheathed  in  their  tough 
organization.  Ask  Spurzheim,  ask  the  doctors,  ask  Quetelet, 
if  temperaments  decile  nothing?  or  if  there  be  anything  they 
do  not  decide  1  Read  the  description  in  medical  books  of  the 
four  temperaments,  and  you  will  think  you  are  reading  your 
own  thoughts  which  you  had  not  yet  told.  Find  the  part  which 
black  eyes,  and  which  blue  eyes,  play  severally  in  the  company. 
How  shall  a  man  escape  from  his  ancestors,  or  draw  off  from 
his  veins  the  black  drop  which  he  drew  from  his  father's  or  his 
mother's  life  1  It  often  appears  in  a  family,  as  if  all  the  quali 
ties  of  the  progenitors  were  potted  in  several  jars,  —  some  rul 
ing  quality  in  each  son  or  daughter  of  the  house,  —  and  some 
times  the  unmixed  temperament,  the  rank  unmitigated  elixir, 
the  family  vice,  is  drawn  off  in  a  separate  individual,  and  the 
others  are  proportionally  relieved.  We  sometimes  see  a  change 
of  expression  in  our  companion,  and  say,  his  father,  or  his 
mother,  comes  to  the  windows  of  his  eyes,  and  sometimes  a 
remote  relative.  In  different  hours,  a  man  represents  each  of 
several  of  his  ancestors,  as  if  there  were  seven  or  eight  of  us 
rolled  up  in  each  man's  skin,  —  seven  or  eight  ancestors  at 
least,  —  and  they  constitute  the  variety  of  notes  for  that  new 
piece  of  music  which  his  life  is.  At  the  corner  of  the  street, 
you  read  the  possibility  of  each  passenger,  in  the  facial  angle, 
in  the  complexion,  in  the  depth  of  his  eye.  His  parentage 


l-'ATE.  321 

determines  it.  Men  are  what  their  mothers  made  them.  You 
may  as  well  ask  a  loom  which  \v,  aves  huckaback,  why  it  does 
not  make  cashmere,  as  expect  poetry  from  this  engineer,  or  a 
chemical  discovery  from  that  jobber.  Ask  the  diuuer  in  the 
ditch  to  explain  Newton's  laus;  the  tine  organs  of  liis  hrain 
have  heen  pinched  by  overwork  and  squalid  poverty  from 
fat  her  to  son,  lor  a  hundred  vears.  When  each  comes  forth 
from  his  mother's  womh,  the  gate  of  gifts  closes  hehind  him. 
Let  him  value  his  hands  and  fed.  he  has  hut  one  pair.  So  he 
lias  hut  one  future,  and  that  is  already  predetermined  in  his 
lobes,  and  described  in  that  little  fatty  face,  pig-eye,  and  squat 
form.  All  the  privilege  and  all  the  legislation  of  the  world 
cannot  meddle  or  help)  to  make-a  poet  or  a  prince  of  him. 

-said,  "When  he  lookcth  on  her,  he  hath  committed 
adultery."  Hut  lie  is  an  adulterer  before  he  has  yet  looked  on 
the  woman,  hy  the  superfluity  of  animal,  and  the  defect  of 
thought  in  his  constitution.  Who  meets  him,  or  who  meets  her, 
in  the  street,  sees  that  they  are  ripe  to  be  each  other's  victim. 

In  certain  men.  digestion  and  sex  absorb  the  vital  force,  and 
the  stronger  the>e  are,  the  individual  is  so  much  weaker.  The 
more  of  these  drones  perish,  the  better  for  the  hive.  If,  later, 
th"y  Lrive  birth  to  some  superior  individual,  with  force  enough 
to  add  to  this  animal  a  new  aim,  and  a  complete  apparatus  to 
work  it  out,  all  the  ancestors  are  gladly  forgotten.  Most  men 
and  most  women  are  merely  one  couple  more.  Now  and  then, 
one  has  a  new  cell  or  camarilla  opened  in  his  brain,  —  an  archi 
tectural,  a  musical,  or  a  philological  knack,  some  stray  ta>to 
or  talent  for  flowers,  or  chemistry,  or  pigments,  or  story-telling, 
1  hand  for  drawing,  a  good  foot  for  dancing,  an  athletic 
frame  for  wide  JMiirni'yinir.  iVe..  — which  skill  nowise  alters  rank 
in  the  scale  of  nature,  but  serves  to  pass  the  time,  the  life  of 
sensation  going  on  as  before.  At  la>t.  these  hints  and  tenden 
cies  are  fixed  in  one,  or  in  a  succession.  Kach  absorbs  so  much 
food  and  force  as  to  become  itself  a  new  centre.  The  new- 
talent  draws  otf  so  rapidly  the  vital  force,  that  not  enough  re 
mains  for  the  animal  functions,  hardly  enough  for  health;  so 
that,  in  the  second  generation,  if  the  like  genius  appear,  the 
health  is  visibly  deteriorated,  and  the  irenerative  force  impaired. 

People  arc  born  with  the  moral  or  with  the  material  bias; 
—  uterine  brothers  with  this  diverging  destination:  and  I 
•Oppose,  with  high  magnifiers.  Mr.  Frauenhofer  or  Dr.  Carpen 
ter  miirht  come  to  distinguish  in  the  embryo  at  the  fourth  day, 
this  is  a  Whig,  and  that  a  Frce-soilcr. 

U*  u 


322  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

It  was  a  poetic  attempt  to  lift  this  mountain  of  Fate,  to 
reconcile  this  despotism  of  race  with  liberty,  which  led  the 
Hindoos  to  say,  "Fate  is  nothing  but  the  deeds  committed  in 
a  prior  state  of  existence."  I  find  the  coincidence  of  the  ex 
tremes  of  Eastern  and  Western  speculation  in  the  daring  state 
ment  of  Schelling,  "  There  is  in  every  man  a  certain  feeling, 
that  he  has  been  what  he  is  from  all  eternity,  and  by  no 
means  became  such  in  time."  To  say  it  less  sublimely,  —  in 
the  history  of  the  individual  is  always  an  account  of  his  con 
dition,  and  he  knows  himself  to  be  a  party  to  his  present 
estate. 

A  good  deal  of  our  politics  is  physiological.  Now  and  then, 
a  man  of  wealth  in  the  heyday  of  youth  adopts  the  tenet  of 
broadest  freedom.  In  England,  there  is  always  some  man  of 
wealth  and  large  connection  planting  himself,  during  all  his 
years  of  health,  on  the  side  of  progress,  who,  as  soon  as  he 
begins  to  die,  checks  his  forward  play,  calls  in  his  troops,  and 
becomes  conservative.  All  conservatives  are  such  from  per 
sonal  defects.  They  have  been  effeminated  by  position  or 
nature,  born  halt  and  blind,  through  luxury  of  their  parents, 
and  can  only,  like  invalids,  act  on  the  defensive.  But  strong 
natures,  backwoodsmen,  New  Hampshire  giants,  Napoleons, 
Burkes,  Broughams,  Websters,  Kossuths,  are  inevitable  pa 
triots,  until  their  life  ebbs,  and  their  defects  and  gout,  palsy 
and  money,  warp  them. 

The  strongest  idea  incarnates  itself  in  majorities  and  na- 
'tions,  in  the  healthiest  and  strongest.  Probably,  the  election 
goes  by  avoirdupois  weight,  and,  if  you  could  weigh  bodily  the 
tonnao-e  of  any  hundred  of  the  Whig  and  the  Democratic 
party  in  a  town  on  the  Dearborn  balance,  as  they  passed  the 
hayscales,  you  could  predict  with  certainty  which  party  would 
carry  it.  On  the  whole,  it  would  be  rather  the  speediest  way 
of  deciding  the  vote,  to  put  the  selectmen  or  the  mayor  and 
aldermen  at  the  hayscales. 

In  science,  we  have  to  consider  two  things  :  power  and  cir 
cumstance.  All  we  know  of  the  egg,  from  each  successive 
discovery,  is,  another  vesicle ;  and  if,  after  five  hundred  years, 
you  get"  a  better  observer,  or  a  better  glass,  he  finds  within 
the  last  observed  another.  In  vegetable  and  animal  tissue,  it 
is  just  alike,  and  all  that  the  primary  power  or  spasm  operates, 
is,  still,  vesicles,  vesicles.  Yes,  —  but  the  tyrannical  Circum 
stance  !  A  vesicle  in  new  circumstances,  a  vesicle  lodged  in 
darkness,  Oken  thought,  became  animal ;  in  light,  a  plant 


FATE.  323 

Lodged  in  the  parent  animal,  it  suffers  changes,  which  end  in 
un>heathiiii:  miraculous  capability  in  the  unaltered  vesicle, 
and  it  unlocks  itself  to  tish,  bird,  or  quadruped,  head  and  foot,' 
eve  and  rla\v.  The  ( 'ireunistance  is  Nature*.  Nature  is  what 
you  may  do.  There  is  much  you  may  not.  We  have  two 
things,  —  the  circumstance  and  the  life.  Once  we  thought, 
positive  power  was  all.  Now  we  learn,  that  negative  power, 
or  circumstance,  is  half.  Nature  is  the  tyrannous  circum 
stance,  the  thick  skull,  the  sheathed  snake,  the  ponderous, 
rock-like  jaw;  neressitatcd  activity;  violent  direction;  tho 
conditions  of  a  tool,  like  the  locomotive,  strong  enough  on  its 
track,  but  which  can  do  nothing  but  mischief  off  of  it ;  or 
skates,  which  are  wings  on  the  ice,  but  fetters  on  the  ground. 

The  book  of  Nature  is  the  book  of  Fate.  She  turns  tho 
gigantic  pages,  —  leaf  after  leaf, — never  re-turning  one. 
One  leaf  she  lays  down,  a  floor  of  granite ;  then  a  thousand 
;ind  a  lied  of  slate  ;  a  thousand  ages,  and  a  measure  of 
co  il  ;  a  thousand  ages,  and  a  layer  of  marl  and  mud  :  vege 
table  forms  appear:  her  first  misshapen  animals,  zoophyte, 
trilobinm,  fish;  then,  sanrians, — rude  forms,  in  which  sho 
has  only  blocked  her  future  statue,  concealing  under  these 
unwieldy  monsters  the  fine  type  of  her  coming  king.  The 
face  of  the  planet  cools  and  dries,  the  races  meliorate,  and 
man  is  born.  J3ut  when  a  race  has  lived  its  term,  it  comes  no 
more  again. 

The  population  of  the  world  is  a  conditional  population  ; 
not  the  best,  but  the  best  that  could  live  now  ;  and  the  scale 
of  tribes,  and  the  steadiness  with  which  victory  adheres  to 
one  tribe,  and  defeat  to  another,  is  as  uniform  as  the  super 
position  of  strata.  We  know  in  history  what  weight  belongs 
to  race.  We  see  the  English,  French,  and  Germans  planting 
themselves  on  every  shore  and  market  of  America  and  Austra 
lia,  and  monopolizing  the  commerce  of  these  countries.  We 
like  the  nervous  and  victorious  habit  of  our  own  branch  of 
the  family.  We  follow  the  step  of  the  Jew,  of  the  Indian, 
of  the  Negro.  We  see  how  much  will  has  been  expended  to 
extinguish  the  Jew,  in  vain.  Look  at  the  unpalatable  con 
clusions  of  Knox,  in  his  "  Fragment  of  Races,"  —  a  rash  and 
unsatisfactory  writer,  but  charged  with  pungent  and  unforget- 
able  truths.  "  Nature  respects  race,  and  not  hybrids."  "  Every 
race  has  its  own  hnhitat"  "  Detach  a  colony  from  the  race, 
and  it  deteriorates  to  the  crab.''  See  the  shades  of  the  picture. 
The  German  and  Irish  millions,  like  the  Negro,  have  a  great 


324  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

deal  of  guano  in  their  destiny.  They  are  ferried  over  the  At 
lantic,  and  carted  over  America,  to  ditch  and  to  drudge,  to 
make  corn  cheap,  and  then  to  lie  down  prematurely  to  make  a 
spot  of  green  grass  on  the  prairie. 

One  more  fagot  of  these  adamantine  bandages,  is,  the  new- 
science  of  Statistics.  It  is  a  rule,  that  the  most  casual  and 
extraordinary  events  —  if  the  basis  of  population  is  broad 
enough  —  become  matter  of  fixed  calculation.  It  would  not 
be  safe  to  say  when  a  captain  like  Bonaparte,  a  singer  like 
Jenny  Lind,  or  a  navigator  like  Bowditch,  would  be  born  in 
Boston  :  but,  on  a  population  of  twenty  or  two  hundred  mil 
lions,  something  like  accuracy  may  be  had.* 

'T  is  frivolous  to  fix  pedantically  the  date  of  particular  in 
ventions.  They  have  all  been  invented  over  and  over  fifty 
times.  Man  is  the  arch  machine,  of  which  all  these  shifts 
drawn  from  himself  are  toy  models.  He  helps  himself  on 
each  emergency  by  copying  or  duplicating  his  own  structure, 
just  so  far  as  the  need  is.  'T  is  hard  to  find  the  right  Homer, 
Zoroaster,  or  Menu  ;  harder  still  to  find  the  Tubal  Cain,  or 
Vulcan,  or  Cadmus,  or  Copernicus,  or  Fust,  or  Fulton,  the  in 
disputable  inventor.  There  are  scores  and  centuries  of  them. 
"  The  air  is  full  of  men."  This  kind  of  talent  so  abounds, 
this  constructive  tool-making  efficiency,  as  if  it  adhered  to  the 
chemic  atoms,  as  if  the  air  he  breathes  were  made  of  Vau- 
cansons.  Franklins,  and  Watts. 

Doubtless,  in  every  million  there  will  be  an  astronomer,  a 
mathematician,  a  comic  poet,  a  mystic.  No  one  can  read  the 
history  of  astronomy,  without  perceiving  that  Copernicus, 
Newton,  Laplace,  are  not  new  men,  or  a  new  kind  of  men,  but 
that  Thales,  Anaximenes,  Hipparchus,  Empedocles,  Aristar- 
chus,  Pythagoras,  (Enipodes,  had  anticipated  them  :  each  had 
the  same  tense  geometrical  brain,  apt  for  the  same  vigorous 
computation  and  logic,  a  mind  parallel  to  the  movement  of 
the  world.  The  Roman  mile  probably  rested  on  a  measure 
of  a  degree  of  the  meridian.  Mahometan  and  Chinese  know 
what  we  know  of  leap-year,  of  the  Gregorian  calendar,  and  of 
the  precession  of  the  equinoxes.  As,  in  every  barrel  of  cow 
ries,  brought  to  New  Bedford,  there  shall  be  one  orangia,  so 
there  will,  in  a  dozen  millions  of  Malays  and  Mahometans,  be 

*  "  Everything  which  pertains  to  the  human  specie?,  considered  as  a  whole, 
belongs  to  the  order  of  physical  facts.  The  greater  the  number  of  individu 
als,  the  more  does  the  influence  of  the  individual  will  disappear,  leaving  pre 
dominance  to  a  series  of  general  facts  dependent  ou  causes  by  which  society 
exists,  and  is  preserved."  —  QUETELET. 


FATE.  325 

one  or  two  astronomical  skulls.  In  a  large  city,  the  most  cas 
ual  thirds,  and  things  whose  l>cauty  lies  in  their  casualty,  an- 
produced  :is  punctually  and  to  order  as  the  baker's  muffin  for 
breakfast  Punch  makes  exactly  one  capital  joke  a  week  ;  and 
the  journals  contrive  to  furnish  one  good  piece  of  news  every 
day. 

And  not  less  work  the  laws  of  repression,  the  penalties  of 
violated  functions.  Famine,  typhus,  frost,  war,  suicide,  and 
effete  races,  must  be  reckoned  calculable  parts  of  the  system 
of  the  world. 

These  are  pebbles  from  the  mountain,  hints  of  the  terms 
by  which  our  life  is  walled  up,  and  which  show  a  kind  of  me 
chanical  exactness,  as  of  a  loom  or  mill,  in  what  we  call  cas 
ual  or  fortuitous  events. 

The  force  with  which  we  resist  these  ton-cuts  of  tendency 
looks  so  ridiculously  inadequate,  that  it  amounts  to  little  more 
than  a  criticism  or  a  protest  made  by  a  minority  of  one, 
under  compulsion  of  millions.  I  seemed,  in  the  height  of  a 
tempest,  to  see  men  overboard  struggling  in  the  waves,  and 
driven  about  here  and  there.  They  glanced  intelligently  at 
each  other,  but  't  was  little  they  could  do  for  one  another  ; 
't  was  much  if  each  could  keep  afloat  alone.  Well,  they  had 
a  right  to  their  eye-beams,  and  all  the  rest  was  Fate. 

We  cannot  trifle  with  this  reality,  this  cropping-out  in  out 
planted  gardens  of  the  core  of  the  world.  No  picture  of  lifo 
can  have  any  veracity  that  does  not  admit  the  odious  facts, 
A  man's  power  is  hooped  in  by  a  necessity,  which,  by  many 
experiments,  he  touches  on  every  side,  until  he  learns  its  arc. 

The  clement  running  through  entire  nature,  which  we  pop 
ularly  call  Kate,  is  known  to  us  as  limitation.  Whatever  linv 
its  us,  we  call  Kate.  If  we  are  brute  and  barbarous,  the  fato 
takes  a  brute  and  dreadful  shape.  As  we  refine,  our  cheeks 
ben  une  finer.  If  we  rise  to  spiritual  culture,  the  antagonism 
takes  a  spiritual  form.  In  the  Hindoo  fables,  Vishnu  follows 
Maya  through  all  her  ascending  changes,  from  insect  and 
craw-fish  up  to  elephant ;  whatever  form  she  took,  he  took  the 
male  form  of  that  kind,  until  she  became  at  last  woman  and 
goddess,  and  he  a  man  and  a  god.  The  limitations  refine  as 
the  soul  purifies,  but  the  ring  of  necessity  is  always  perched 
at  the  top. 

When  the  gods  in  the  Norse  heaven  were  unable  to  bind 
the  Kenris  Wolf  with  steel  or  with  weight  of  mountains,  —  the 


326  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

one  he  snapped  and  the  other  he  spurned  with  his  heel,  — 
they  put  round  his  foot  a  limp  band  softer  than  silk  or  cob 
web,  and  this  held  him  :  the  more  he  spurned  it,  the  stiffer  it 
drew.  So  soft  and  so  stanch  is  the  ring  of  Fate.  Neither 
brandy,  nor  nectar,  nor  sulphuric  ether,  nor  hell-fire,  nor  ichor, 
nor  poetry,  nor  genius,  can  get  rid  of  this  limp  band.  For  if 
we  give  it  the  high  sense  in  which  the  poets  use  it,  even 
thought  itself  is  not  above  Fate  :  that  too  must  act  according 
to  eternal  laws,  and  all  that  is  wilful  and  fantastic  in  it  is  in 
Apposition  to  its  fundamental  essence. 

And  last  of  all,  high  over  thought,  in  the  world  of  morals, 
Fate  appears  as  vindicator,  levelling  the  high,  lifting  the  low, 
requiring  justice  in  man,  and  always  striking  soon  or  late, 
when  justice  is  not  done.  What  is  useful  wilLJast ;  what  is 
hurtful  will  sink.  "  The  doer  must  suffer,"  said  the  Greeks  : 
'^ou^would-soothe  a  Deity  not  to  be  soothed."  "God  him 
self  cannot  procure  good  for  the  wicked,"  said  the  Welsh  triad. 
"  God  may  consent,  but  only  for  a  time,"  said  the  bard  of 
Spain.  The  limitation  is  impassable  by  any  insight  of  man. 
In  its  last  and  loftiest  ascensions,  insight  itself,  and  the  free 
dom  of  the  will,  is  one  of  its  obedient  members.  But  we  must 
not  run  into  generalizations  too  large,  but  show  the  natural 
bounds  or  essential  distinctions,  and  seek  to  do  justice  to  the 
other  elements  as  well. 

~~7  Thus  we  trace  Fate,  in  matter,  mind,  and  morals,  —  in  race, 
in  retardations  of  strata,  and  in  thought  and  character  as  well. 
It  is  everywhere  bound  or  limitation.  But  Fate  has  its  lord  ; 
limitation  its  limits  ;  is  different  seen  from  above  and  from 
below  ;  from  within  and  from  without.  For,  though  fate  is 
immense,  so  is  power,  which  is  the  other  fact  in  the  dual  world, 
immense.  If  Fate  follows  and  limits  power,  power  attends 
and  antagonizes  Fate.  We  must  respect  Fate  as  natural 
history,  but  there  is  more  than  natural  history.  For  who  and 
what  is  this  criticism  that  pries  into  the  matter  1  Man  is  not 
order  of  nature,  sack  and  sack,  belly  and  members,  link  in  a 
chain,  nor  any  ignominious  baggage,  but  a  stupendous  an 
tagonism,  a  dragging  together  of  the  poles  of  the  Universe. 
He  betrays  his  relation  to  what  is  below  him,  —  thick-skulled, 
small-brained,  fishy,  quadrumanous,  —  quadruped  ill-disguised, 
hardly  escaped  into  biped,  and  has  paid  for  the  new  powers  by 
loss  of  some  of  the  old  ones.  But  the  lightning  which  ex 
plodes  and  fashions  planets,  maker  of  planet  and  suns,  is  m 


FATE.  327 

him.  On  one  side,  elemental  order,  sandstone  and  granite, 
rock-tedget,  peat4)0g,  forest,  sea  and  shore  ;  and,  on  the  other 
part,  thought,  the  spirit  which  composes  and  decomposes 
nature,  —  here  they  are,  side  by  side,  god  and  devil,  mind  and 
matter,  king  and  conspirator.  U-lt  and  spasm,  riding  peacefully 
ther  in  the  eye  and  brain  of  every  man. 

Nor  can  he  blink  the  freewill.  To  hazard  the  contradiction, 
—  freedom  is  necessary.  If  you  please  to  plant  yourself  on 
the  side  of  Fate,  and  say,  Fate  is  all  ;  then  we  say,  a'  part  of 
Fate  is  the  freedom  of  man.  Forever  wells  up  the  impulse  of 
choosing  and  acting  in  the  soul.  Intellect  annuls  Fate.  So  _ 
far  as  a  man  thinks,  he  is  free.  And  though  nothing  is  more 
disgusting  than  the  crowing  about  liberty  by  slaves,  as  most 
men  an1,  and  the  flippant  mistaking  for  freedom  of  some  paper 
preamble  like  a  "Declaration  of  Independence,"  or  the  statute 
right  to  vote,  by  those  who  have  never  dared  to  think  or  to  act, 
yet  it  is  wholesome  to  man  to  look  not  at  Fate,  but  the  other 
way  :  the  practical  view  is  the  other.  His  sound  relation  to 
these  facts  is  to  use  and  command,  not  to  cringe  to  them.  "Look 
not  on  nature,  for  her  name  is  fatal,"  said  the  oracle.  The  too 
much  contemplation  of  these  limits  induces  meanness.  They 
who  talk  much  of  destiny,  their  birth-star,  etc.,  are  in  a  lower 
dangerous  plane,  and  invite  the  evils  they  fear. 

I  cited  the  instinctive  and  heroic  races  as  proud  believers  in 
Destiny.  They  conspire  with  it  ;  a  loving  resignation  is  with 
the  event.  But  the  dogma  makes  a  different  impression,  wheu 
it  is  held  by  the  weak  and  la/y.  T  is  weak  and  vicious  peopK- 
who  cast  the  blame  on  Fate.  The  right  use  of  Fate  is  to  br; 
apouroonducj  to  the  loftiness  of  nature,  llude  and  invinci 
ble  except  by  themselves  arc  the  elements.  So  let  man  be. 
Let  him  empty  his  breast  of  his  windy  conceits,  and  show  1, 
lordship  by  manners  and  deeds  on  the  scale  of  nature.  Let 
him  hold  his  purpose  as  with  the  tug  of  gravitation.  xSo 
power,  no  persuasion,  no  bribe  shall  make  him  give  up  his 
point.  A  man  ought  to  compare  advantageously  with  a  river, 
an  oak,  or  a  mountain.  He  shall  have  not  less  the  flow,  the  ex 
pansion,  and  the  resistance  of  these. 

'T  is  the  best  use  of  Fate  to  t<>ach  a  fatal  courage.  (•<>  fare 
the  fire  at  sea,  or  the  cholera  in  your  friend's  house,  or  the 
burglar  in  your  own,  or  what  danger  lies  in  the  way  of  duty, 
knowing  you  are  guarded  by  the  rhcrubim  of  Dot  in\ .  If  you 
believe  in  Fate  to  your  harm,  believe  it,  at  least,  for  your 
good. 


328  CONDUCT    OF   LIFE. 

For,  if  Fate  is  so  prevailing,  man  also  is  part  of  it,  and  can 
confront  fate  with  fate.  If  the  Universe  have  these  savage 
accidents,  our  atoms  are  as  savage  in  resistance.  We  should 
be  crushed  by  the  atmosphere,  but  for  the  reaction  of  the  air 
within  the  body.  A  tube  made  of  a  film  of  glass  can  resist  the 
shock  of  the  ocean,  if  filled  with  the  same  water.  If  there  be 
omnipotence  in  the  stroke,  there  is  omnipotence  of  recoil. 

1.  But  Fate  against  Fate  is  only  parrying  and  defence  : 
there  are,  also,  the  noble  creative  forces.  The  revelation  of 
Thought  takes  man  out  of  servitude  into  freedom.  We  rightly 
say  of  ourselves,  we  were  born,  and  afterward  we  were  born 
again,  and  many  times.  We  have  successive  experiences  so 
important,  that  the  new  forgets  the  old,  and  hence  the  mythol 
ogy  of  the  seven  or  the  nine  heavens.  The  day  of  days,  the 
great  day  of  the  feast  of  life,  is  that  in  which  the  inward  eye 
opens  to  the  Unity  in  things,  to  the  omnipresence  of  law; — - 
sees  that  what  is  must  be,  and  ought  to  be,  or  is  the  best. 
This  beatitude  dips  from  on  high  down  on  us,  and  we  see.  It 
is  not  in  us  so  much  as  we  are  in  it.  If  the  air  come  to  our 
lungs,  we  breathe  and  live ;  if  not,  we  die.  If  the  light  come 
to  our  eyes,  we  see ;  else  not.  And  if  truth  come  to  our 
mind,  we  suddenly  expand  to  its  dimensions,  as  if  we  grew  to 
worlds.  We  are  as  lawgivers ;  we  speak  for  Nature  ;  we  proph 
esy  and  divine. 

This  insight  throws  us  on  the  party  and  interest  of  the 
Universe,  against  all  and  sundry  ;  against  ourselves,  as  much  as 
others.  A  man  speaking  from  insight  affirms  of  himself  what 
is  true  of  the  mind  :  seeing  its  immortality,  he  says,  I  am  im 
mortal  ;  seeing  its  invincibility,  he  says,  I  am  strong.  It  is 
not  in  us,  but  we  are  in  it.  It  is  of  the  maker,  not  of  what  is 
made.  All  things  are  touched  and  changed  by  it.  This  uses, 
and  is  not  used.  It  distances  those  who  share  it,  from  those 
who  share  it  not.  Those  who  share  it  not  are  flocks  and  herds. 
It  dates  from  itself;  —  not  from  former  men  or  better  men,  — 
gospel,  or  constitution,  or  college,  or  custom.  Where  it  shines, 
Nature  is  no  longer  intrusive,  but  all  things  make  a  musical 
or  pictorial  impression.  The  world  of  men  show  like  a  comedy 
without  laughter  :  populations,  interests,  government,  his 
tory  ;  't  is  all  toy  figiires  in  a  toy  house.  It  does  not  over 
value  particular  truths.  We  hear  eagerly  every  thought  and 
word. quoted  from  an  intellectual  man.  But,  in  his  presence, 
our  own  mind  is  roused  to  activity,  and  we  forget  very  fast 
what  he  says,  much  more  interested  in  the  new  play  of  our 


FATE.  329 

own  thought,  th:in  in  any  thought  of  his.  T  is  the  majesty 
into  which  we  have  suddenly  mounted,  the  impersonality,  the 
scorn  of  egotisms,  the  sphere  of  laws,  that  engage  us.  <  >ncu 
\\e  were  stepping  a  little  this  way,  and  a  little  that  way  ;  now, 
we  are  as  men  in  a  balloon,  and  do  not  think  so  much  of  the 
point  we  have  left,  or  the  jxiint  we  would  make,  us  of  the  lib 
erty  and  u'lory  of  the  way. 

Jttri  as  much  intellect  as  you  add,  so  much  organic  power, 
lie  who  sees  through  the  design,  presides  over  it,  and  must 
will  that  which  must  l>e.  We  sit  and  rule,  and.  though  we 
sleep,  our  dream  will  come  to  puss.  Our  thought,  though  it 
were  onlv  an  hour  old,  allirms  an  oldest  necessity,  not  to  be 
separated  from  thought,  and  not  to  bo  separated  from  will. 
They  must  always  have  co-existed.  It  apprises  us  of  its  sov 
ereignty  and  godhead,  which  refuse  to  be  severed  from  it. 
It  is  not,  mine  or  thine,  but  the  will  of  all  mind.  It  is  poured 
into  the  souls  of  all  men,  as  the  soul  itself  which  constitutes 
them  men.  1  know  not  whether  there  he,  as  is  alleged,  in  the 
upper  region  of  our  atmosphere,  a  permanent  westerly  cm-rent, 
which  carries  with  it  all  atoms  which  rise  to  that  height,  but 
•hat  when  souls  reach  a  certain  clearness  of  perception, 
they  accept  a  knowledge  und  motive  above  selfishness.  £A__ 
breath  of  will  blows  eternally  through  the  universe  of  souls 
hi  the  direction  of  the  Ki-ht  and  Necessary.  J  It  is  the  air 
which  all  intellects  inhale  and  exhale,  and  it  is  the  wind  which 
blows  the  worlds  into  order  and  orbit. 

Thought   dissolves  the  material    universe,  by  carrying  the 
mind  up  into  a  sphere  where  all  is  plastic.     Of  two  men,  each 
obeying  his  own  thought,  he  whose  thought  is  deepest  will    be_^ 
the  strongest  character.      Always  one   man   more  than  another 
represents  the  will  of  Divine  Providence  to  the  period.  / 

±  [f  thought  makes  free,  so  does  the  moral  sentiment.  The  . 
mixtures  of  spiritual  chemistry  refuse  to  be  analv/ed.  Yet  we 
can  see  that  with  the  perception  <»f  truth  is  joined  the  d 
that  it  shall  prevail.  That  affection  is  essential  to  will.  More 
over,  when  a  strong  will  appears,  it  usually  results  from  a  cer 
tain  unity  of  organization,  as  if  the  whole  energy  of  body  ami 
mind  flowed  in  one  direction.  All  ureat,  force  is  real  and  ele 
mental.  There  is  no  manufacturing  a  strung  will.  There 
must  be  a  pound  to  balance  a  |>ound.  Where  power  is  shown 
in  will,  it  must  rest  on  the  universal  force.  Alaric  and  Ii«m:i- 
parte  must  believe  they  rest  on  a  truth.  <»r  their  will  can  ho 
bought  or  bent.  There  is  a  bribe  possible  for  any  finite  will 


330  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

But  the  pure  sympathy  with  universal  ends  is  an  infinite  force, 
and  cannot  be  bribed  or  bent.  Whoever  has  had  experience 
of  the  moral  sentiment  cannot  choose  but  believe  in  unlimited 
power.  Each  pulse  from  that  heart  is  an  oath  from  the  Most 
High.  I  know  not  what  the  word  sublime  means,  if  it  be  not 
the  intimations  in  this  infant  of  a  terrific  force.  A  text  of 
heroism,  a  name  and  anecdote  of  courage,  are  not  arguments, 
but  sallies  of  freedom.  One  of  these  is  the  verse  of  the  Per 
sian  Hafiz,  "  'T  is  written  on  the  gate  of  heaven,  '  Woe  unto 
him  who  suffers  himself  to  be  betrayed  by  Fate  ! '  '  Does  the 
reading  of  history  make  us  fatalists  1  What  courage  does  not 
the  opposite  opinion  show !  A  little  whim  of  will  to  be  free 
gallantly  contending  against  the  universe  of  chemistry. 

But  insight  is  not  will,  nor  is  affection  will.  Perception  is 
cold,  and  goodness  dies  in  wishes ;  as  Voltaire  said,  't  is  the 
misfortune  of  wrorthy  people  that  they  are  cowards ;  "  un 
des  j)lus  grands  malkeurs  des  honnetes  gens  Jest  quails  sont  des 
Idches"  There  must  be  a  fusion  of  these  two  to  generate  the 
energy  of  will.  There  can  be  no  driving  force,  except  through 
the  conversion  of  the  man  into  his  will,  making  him  the  will, 
and  the  will  him.  And  one  may  say  boldly,  that  no  man  has 
a  right  perception  of  any  truth,  who  has  not  been  reacted  on 
bv  it,  so  as  to  be  ready  to  be  its  martyr. 

•*  yThe  one  serious  and  formidable  thing  in  nature  is  a  will. 
Society  is  servile  from  want  of  will, , and  therefore  the  world 
wants  saviours  and  religions.  \  One  way  is  right  to  go  :  the 
hero  sees  it,  and  moves  on  thltt  aim,  and  has  the  world  under 
him  for  root  and  support.  Jle  is  to  others  as  the  world.  His 
approbation  is  honor  ;  his  dissent,  infamy.  The  glance  of  his 
eye  has  the  force  of  sunbeams.  A  personal  influence  towers  up 
in  memory  only  worthy,  and  we  gladly  forget  numbers,  money, 
climate,  gravitation,  and  the  rest  of  Fate. 

We  can  afford  to  allow  the  limitation,  if  we  know  it  is  the 
meter  of  the  growing  man.  We  stand  against  Fate,  as  chil 
dren  stand  up  against  the  wall  in  their  father's  house,  and 
notch  their  height  from  year  to  year.  But  when  the  boy  grows 
to  man,  and  is  master  of  the  house,  he  pulls  down  that  wall, 
and  builds  a  new  and  bigger.  'T  is  only  a  question  of  time. 
Every  brave  youth  is  in  training  to  ride  and  rule  this  dragon. 
His  science  is  to  make  weapons  and  wings  of  these  passions 
and  retarding  forces.  Now  whether,  seeing  these  two  things, 
fate  and  power,  we  are  permitted  to  believe  in  unity  'I  The 


FATE.  331 

bulk  of  mankind  believe  in  two_gods.  They  are  under  one  do- 
mtnion~hereTn  the  house,  as  friend  and  parent,  in  social  cir 
cles,  in  letters,  in  art,  in  love,  in  religion  :  but  in  mechanics, 
in  dealing  with  steam  and  eliniate,  in  trade,  in  politics,  they 
think  they  come  under  another  ;  and  that  it  would  lie  a  prac 
tical  blunder  to  transfer  the  method  and  way  of  working  of  one 
sphere,  into  the  other.  What  -nod,  honest,  generous  men  at 
home,  will  be  wolves  and  foxes  on  change  !  What  pious  men 
in  the  parlor  will  vote  for  what  reprobates  at  the  polls!  To  a 
certain  point,  they  believe  themselves  the  care  of  a  Providence. 
But,  in  a  steamboat,  in  an  epidemic,  in  war,  they  believe  a 
malignant  energy  rules. 

But  relation  and  connection  are  not  somewhere  and  some 
times,  but  everywhere  and  always.  The  divine  order  does  not 
stop  where  their  sight  stops.  The  friendly  power  works  on  the 
same  rules,  in  the  next  farm,  and  the  next  planet.  But,  where 
they  have  not  experience,  they  run  against  it.  and  hurt  them 
selves.  Fate,  then,  is  a  name  for  facts  not  yet  passed  under 
the  fire  of  thought ;  —  for  causes  which  are  impenetrated. 

But  every  jeLflf  rhaos  which  threatens  to  exterminate  us, 
is  convertible  bv  intellect  into  wholesome  force.  Fate  is  im 
penetrated  causes.  The  water  drowns  ship  and  sailor,  like 
a  grain  of  dust.  But  learn  to  swim,  trim  your  bark,  and  the 
wave  which  drowned  it  will  be  cloven  by  it,  and  carry  it,  like 
its  own  foam,  a  plume  and  a  power.  The  cold  is  inconsider 
ate  of  persons,  tinirles  your  blood,  freezes  a  man  like  a  dew- 
drop.  But  learn  to  skato,  and  the  ice  will  give  you  a  graceful, 
sweet,  and  poetic  motion.  The  cold  will  brace  your  limbs  and 
brain  to  genius,  and  make  you  foremost  men  of  time.  Cold 
and  sea  will  train  an  imperial  Saxon  race,  which  nature  cannot 
bear  to  lose,  and,  after  cooping  it  up  for  a  thousand  years  in 
yonder  Kn-land,  irives  a  hundred  Knglands,  a  hundred  Mexi- 
All  the  bloods  it  shall  absorb  and  domineer:  and  more 
than  Mexicos.  —  the  secrets  of  water  and  steam,  the  spasms 
of  electricity,  the  ductility  of  metals,  the  chariot  of  the  air,  the 
ruddered  balloon,  are  awaiting  you. 

The  annual  slaughter  from  typhus  far  exceeds  that  of  war  ; 
but  right  drainage  destroys  typhus.  The  plague  in  the  sea- 
service  from  scurvy  is  healed  hv  lemon-juice  and  other  diets 
portable  or  procurable  :  the  depopulation  by  cholera  and  small 
pox  is  ended  by  drainage  and  vaccination  :  and  every  other 
pest  is  not  less  in  the  chain  of  cause  and  effect,  and  may  be 
fought  off.  And,  whilst  art  draws  out  the  venom,  it  common- 


332  CONDUCT    OF   LIFE. 

ly  extorts  some  benefit  from  the  vanquished  enemy.  The 
mischievous  torrent  is  taught  to  drudge  for  man  :  the  wild 
beasts  he  makes  useful  for  food,  or  dress,  or  labor ;  the  chemic 
explosions  are  controlled  like  his  watch.  These  are  now  the 
steeds  on  which  he  rides.  Man  moves  in  all  modes,  by  legs 
of  horses,  by  wings  of  wind,  by  steam,  by  gas  of  balloon,  by 
electricity,  and  stands  on  tiptoe  threatening  to  hunt  the  eagle 
in  his  own  element.  There  's  nothing  he  will  not  make  his 
carrier. 

Steam  was,  till  the  other  day,  the  devil  which  we  dreaded. 
Every  pot  made  by  any  human  potter  or  brazier  had  a  hole 
in  its  cover,  to  let  off  the  enemy,  lest  he  should  lift  pot  and 
roof,  and  carry  the  house  away.  But  the  Marquis  of  Worces 
ter,  Watt,  and  Fulton  bethought  themselves,  that,  where  was 
power,  was  not  devil,  but  was  God  ;  that  it  must  be  availed  of, 
and  not  by  any  means  let  oft'  and  wasted.  Could  he  lift  pots 
and  roofs  and  houses  so  handily  1  he  was  the  workman  they 
were  in  search  of.  He  could  be  used  to  lift  away,  chain,  and 
compel  other  devils  far  more  reluctant  and  dangerous,  namely, 
cubic  miles  of  earth,  mountains,  weight  or  resistance  of  water, 
machinery,  and  the  labors  of  all  men  in  the  world  ;  and  time 
he  shall  lengthen,  and  shorten  space. 

It  has  not  fared  much  otherwise  with  higher  kinds  of  steam. 
The  opinion  of  the  million  was  the  terror  of  the  world,  and  it 
was  attempted,  either  to  dissipate  it,  by  amusing  nations,  or 
to  pile  it  over  with  strata  of  society,  —  a  layer  of  soldiers ; 
over  that,  a  layer  of  lords  ;  and  a  king  on  the  top  ;  with 
clamps  and  hoops  of  castles,  garrisons,  and  police.  But,  some 
times,  the  religious  principle  would  get  in,  and  burst  the  hoops, 
and  ride  every  mountain  laid  on  top  of  it.  The  Fultons  and 
\Vatts  of  politics,  believing  in  unity,  saw  that  it  was  a  power, 
and,  by  satisfying  it,  (as  justice  satisfies  everybody,)  through 
a  different  disposition  of  society,  —  grouping  it  on  a  level,  in 
stead  of  piling  it  into  a  mountain,  —  they  have  contrived  to 
make  of  this  terror  the  most  harmless  and  energetic  form  of  a 
State. 

Very  odious,  I  confess,  are  the  lessons  of  Fate.  Who  likes 
to  have  a  dapper  phrenologist  pronouncing  on  his  fortunes'? 
Who  likes  to  believe  that  he  has  hidden  in  his  skull,  spine,  and 
pelvis,  all  the  vices  of  a  Saxon  or  Celtic  race,  which  will  be 
sure  to  pull  him  down  —  with  what  grandeur  of  hope  and 
resolve  he  is  fired,  — into  a  selfish,  huckstering,  servile,  dodg 
ing  animal  1  A  learned  physician  tells  us,  the  fact  is  invariable 


FATE.  333 

with  the  Neapolitan,  that,  when  mature,  lie  assumes  the  forms 
of  the  unmistakable  .scoundrel.  That  is  a  little  overrated, — 
but  may  j 

lint  thi-M-  are  maga/ines  and  arsenals.  A  man  must  thank 
his  defects,  and  stand  in  some  terror  of  his  talents.  A  tran 
scendent  talent  draws  so  largely  on  his  forces,  as  to  lame  him  ; 
a  detect  pays  him  revenues  on  the  other  side.  The  sufferance, 
which  is  the  badge  of  the  Jew,  has  made  him,  in  these  days, 
the  ruler  of  the  rulers  of  the  earth.  If  Fate  is  ore  and  quarry, 
if  evil  is  good  in  the  making,  if  limitation  is  power  that  shall 
be,  if  ealamities,  oppositions,  ami  weights  are  wings  and  means, 
—  we  are  reconciled. 

Fate  involves  the  melioration.  No  statement  of  the  Uni 
verse  can  have  any  soundness,  which  does  not  admit  its  ascend 
ing  effort.  The  direction  of  the  whole,  and  of  the  parts,  is 
toward  benefit,  and  in  proportion  to  the  health.  Ik-hind  every 
individual  closes  organixation  :  before  him,  opens  liberty,  — 
the  lietter,  the  Best.  The  first  and  worst  races  are  dead.  The 
second  and  imj>erfect  races  are  dying  out,  or  remain  for  the 
maturing  of  higher.  In  the  lateM  race,  in  man,  every  generos 
ity.  •  very  new  perception,  the  love  and  praise  he  extorts  from 
his  fellows,  are  certificates  of  advance  out  of  fate  into  freedom. 
Liberation  of  the  will  from  the  sheaths  and  clegs  of  organiza 
tion  which  he  has  outgrown,  is  the  end  and  aim  of  this  world. 
Every  calamity  is  a  spur  and  valuable  hint  ;  and  where  his  en 
deavors  do  not  yet  fully  avail,  they  tell  as  tendency.  The 
whole  circle  of  animal  life,  —  tooth  against  tooth,  —  devouring 
war,  war  for  food,  a  yelp  of  pain  and  a  grunt  of  triumph,  until, 
at  last,  the  whole  menagerie,  the  whole  chemical  mass  is  mel 
lowed  and  refined  tor  higher  use, — pleases  at  a  sufficient 
perspective. 

But  to  see  how  fate  slides  into  freedom,  and  freedom  into 
fate,  observe  how  far  the  roots  of  every  creature  run,  or  find, 
if  you  can,  a  point  where  there  is  no  thread  of  connection. 
Our  life  is  consentaneous  and  far-related.  This  knot  of  nature 
is  so  well  tied,  that  nobody  was  ever  cunning  enoii-h  to  find 
the  two  ends.  Nature  is  intricate,  overlapped,  interweaved, 
and  endless.  Christopher  Wren  said  of  the  beautiful  King's 
College,  chapel,  "that,  if  anybodv  would  tell  him  where  \<>  lav 
the  first  stum-,  he  would  build  such  another."  But  where  shall 
we  find  the  first  atom  in  this  house  of  man,  which  is  all  con 
sent,  inosculation,  and  balance  of  par 

The  web  of  relation  is  shown  in  Imhitnt,  shown   in   hyberna- 


334  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

tion.  When  hybernation  was  observed,  it  was  found,  that, 
whilst  some  animals  became  torpid  in  winter,  others  were  torpid 
in  summer  :  hyberuation  then  was  a  false  name.  The  long 
sleep  is  not  an  effect  of  cold,  but  is  regulated  by  the  supply  of 
food  proper  to  the  animal.  It  becomes  torpid  when  the  fruit 
or  prey  it  lives  on  is  not  in  season,  and  regains  its  activity 
when  its  food  is  ready. 

Eyes  are  found  in  light ;  ears  in  auricular  air ;  feet  on  land  ; 
fins  in  water ;  wings  in  air ;  and,  each  creature  where  it  was 
meant  to  be,  with  a  mutual  fitness.  Every  zone  has  its  own 
Fauna.  There  is  adjustment  between  the  animal  and  its  food, 
its  parasite,  its  enemy.  Balances  are  kept.  It  is  not  allowed 
to  diminish  in  numbers,  nor  to  exceed.  The  like  adjustments 
exist  for  man.  His  food  is  cooked,  when  he  arrives ;  his  coal 
in  the  pit ;  his  house  ventilated  ;  the  mud  of  the  deluge  dried  ; 
his  companions  arrived  at  the  same  hour,  and  awaiting  him 
with  love,  concert,  laughter,  and  tears.  These  are  coarse  ad 
justments,  but  the  invisible  are  not  less.  There  are  more 
belongings  to  every  creature  than  his  air  and  his  food.  His 
instincts  must  be  met,  and  he  has  predisposing  power  that 
bends  and  fits  what  is  near  him  to  his  use.  He  is  not  possible 
until  the  invisible  things  are  right  for  him,  as  well  as  the  visi 
ble.  Of  what  changes,  then,  in  sky  and  earth,  and  in  finer 
skies  and  earths,  does  the  appearance  of  some  Dante  or  Colum 
bus  apprise  us ! 

How  is  this  effected  ?  Nature  is  no  spendthrift,  but  takes 
the  shortest  way  to  her  ends.  As  the  general  says  to  his 
soldiers,  "  If  you  want  a  fort,  build  a  fort,"  so  nature  makes 
every  creature  do  its  own  work  and  get  its  living,  —  is  it  planet, 
animal,  or  tree.  The  planet  makes  itself.  The  animal  cell 
makes  itself ;  —  then,  what  it  wants.  Every  creature  —  wren 
or  dragon  —  shall  make  its  own  lair.  As  soon  as  there  is  life, 
there  is  self-direction,  and  absorbing  and  using  of  material. 
Life  is  freedom,  —  life  in  the  direct  ratio  of  its  amount.  You 
may  be  sure,  the  new-born  man  is  not  inert.  Life  works  both 
voluntarily  and  supernaturally  in  its  neighborhood.  Do  you 
suppose,  he  can  be  estimated  by  his  weight  in  pounds,  or,  that 
he  is  contained  in  his  skin,  —  this  reaching,  radiating,  jaculat- 
ing  fellow  1  The  smallest  candle  fills  a  mile  with  its  rays,  and 
the  papillae  of  a  man  run  out  to  every  star. 

When  there  is  something  to  be  done,  the  world  knows  how 
to  get  it  done.  The  vegetable  eye  makes  leaf,  pericarp,  root, 
bark,  or  thorn,  as  the  need  is  ;  the  first  cell  converts  itself  into 


FATE.  '  335 

stomach,  mouth,  nose,  <>r  n;iil,  according  t<»  the  want  :  the 
w<»rlJ  throws  its  life  int..  a  hero  <>r  a  shepherd  ;  and  puts  him 
where  he  is  wanted.  Dante  and  Columbus  were  Italians,  in 
their  time  :  they  would  he  Russians  or  Americans  to-day. 
Things  ripen,  new  men  come.  The  adaptation  is  not  capri 
cious.  The  ulterior  aim,  the  purpose  beyond  itself,  the  corre 
lation  hv  which  planet.s  suhside  and  crystalli/e,  then  animate 
beasts  an<l  men,  will  not  stop,  hut  will  work  into  liner  partieu- 

tud  from  finer  to  finest. 

The  seeret  of  the  world  is,  the  tie  between  person  and  event. 
Person  makes  event,  and  event  person.  The  "times,"  "the 
age/'  what  is  that,  but  a  few  profound  persons  and  a  few 
active  persons  who  epitomize  the  times?  —  Goethe,  Hegel, 
Metternich,  Adams,  Calhoun,  (Juizot,  Peel,  Cobden,  Kossuth, 
Rothschild,  Aator,  I'.runel,  and  the  rest.  The  same  fitness 
must  he  presumed  between  a  man  and  the  time  and  event,  as 
between  the  sexes,  or  between  a  race-  of  animals  and  the  food 
it  eats,  or  the  inferior  races  it  uses,  lie  thinks  his  fate  alien, 
because  the  copula  i.s  hidden.  But  the  soul  contains  the  event 
that  shall  befall  it,  for  the  event  is  only  the  actualization  of  its 
thoughts  ;  and  what  we  prav  to  ours  -Ives  for  is  always  granted. 
The  event  is  the  print  of  your  form.  It  fits  you  like  your 
skin.  What  each  does  is  proper  to  him.  Events  are  the 
children  of  his  body  and  mind.  We  learn  that  the  soul  of 
Fate  is  the  soul  of  us,  as  Hafiz  sings, 

Alas  !  till  now  I  had  not  kno\m, 

My  guide  and  fortune's  guide  are  one. 

All  the  toys  that  infatuate  men,  and  which  they  play  for,  — 
houses,  land,  money,  luxury,  power,  fame,  are  the  selfsame 
thing,  with  a  new  gauze  or  two  of  illusion  overlaid.  And  of 
all  the  drums  and  rattles  by  which  men  are  made  willing  to 
have  their  heads  broke,  and  are  led  out  solemnly  every  morn 
ing  to  parade,  —  the  most  admirable  is  this  by  which  we  are 
brought  to  believe  that  events  are  arbitrary,  and  independent 
of  actions.  At  the  conjurer's,  we  detect  the  hair  by  which  he 
moves  his  puppet,  but  we  have  not  eyes  sharp  enough  to  desery 
the  thread  that  ties  cause  and  effect. 

Nature  magically  suits  the  man  to  his  fortunes,  by  making 
these  the  fruit  of  his  character.  Ducks  take  to  the  water, 
eagles  to  the  sky,  waders  to  the  sea  margin,  hunters  to  the 
forest,  clerks  to  countinir-rooms.  soldiers  to  the  frontier.  Thus 
events  grow  on  the  same  st»-m  with  persons  :  are  sub-persons. 
The  pleasure  of  life  is  according  to  the  man  that  lives  it,  and 


336  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

not  according  to  the  work  or  the  place.  Life  is  an  ecstasy. 
We  know  what  madness  belongs  to  love,  —  what  power  to  paint 
a  vile  object  in  hues  of  heaven.  As  insane  persons  are  indif 
ferent  to  their  dress,  diet,  and  other  accommodations,  and,  as 
we  do  in  dreams,  with  equanimity,  the  most  absurd  acts,  so,  a 
drop  more  of  wine  in  our  cup  of  life  will  reconcile  us  to  strange 
company  and  work.  Each  creature  puts  forth  from  itself  its 
own  condition  and  sphere,  as  the  slug  sweats  out  its  slimy 
house  on  the  pear-leaf,  and  the  woolly  aphides  on  the  apple 
perspire  their  own  bed,  and  the  fish  its  shell.  In  youth,  we 
clothe  ourselves  with  rainbows,  and  go  as  brave  as  the  zodiac. 
In  age,  we  put  out  another  sort  of  perspiration,  —  gout,  fever, 
rheumatism,  caprice,  doubt,  fretting,  and  avarice. 

A  man's  fortunes  are  the  fruit  of  his  character.  A  mans 
friends  are  his  magnetisms.  We  go  to  Herodotus  and  Plutarch 
fbr~examples  of  Fate  ;  but  we  are  examples.  "Qvt8Q*e  suos 
patimur  manes."  The  tendency  of  every  man  to  enact  all  that 
is  in  his  constitution  is  expressed  in  the  old  belief,  that  the 
efforts  which  we  make  to  escape  from  our  destiny  only  serve  to 
lead  us  into  it  :  and  I  have  noticed,  a  man  likes  better  to  be 
complimented  on  his  position,  as  the  proof  of  the  last  or  total 
excellence,  than  on  his  merits. 

A  man  will  see  his  character  emitted  in  the  events  that  seem 
w  meet,  but  which  exude  from  and  accompany  him.  Events 
expand  with  the  character.  As  once  he  found  himself  among 
toys,  so  now  he  plays  a  part  in  colossal  systems,  and  his  growth 
is'declared  in  his  ambition,  his  companions,  and  his  perform 
ance.  He  looks  like  a  piece  of  luck,  but  is  a  piece  6f  causation  ; 
the  mosaic,  angulated  and  ground  to  fit  into  the  gap  he  fills. 
Hence  in  each  town  there  is  some  man  who  is,  in  his  brain  and 
performance,  an  explanation  of  the  tillage,  production,  factories, 
banks,  churches,  ways  of  living,  and  society,  of  that  town, 
you  do  not  chance  to  meet  him,  all  that  you  see  will  leave  you 
a  little  puzzled  :  if  you  see  him,  it  will  become  plain.  We 
know  in  Massachusetts  who  built  New  Bedford,  who  built 
Lynn,  Lowell,  Lawrence,  Clinton,  Fitchburg,  Holyoke,  Port 
land,  and  many  another  noisy  mart.  Each  of  these  men,  if 
they  were  transparent,  would  seem  to  you  not  so  much  men, 
as  walking  cities,  and,  wherever  you  put  them,  they  would 
build  one. 

-  History  is  the  action  and  reaction  of  these  two,  — Nature 
and  Thought ;  two  boys  pushing  each  other  on  the  curb-stone  of 
the  pavement.  Everything  is  pusher  or  pushed  :  and  matter 


FATE. 

and  mind  are  in  perpetual  tilt  and  balance,  so.  Whilst  the  man 
is  weak,  tin1  earth  takes  up  to  him.  He  plants  his  brain  and 
affections.  I'.y  and  by  lie  will  take  up  the  earth,  and  have  his 
gardens  and  vineyards  in  the  beautiful  order  and  productive 
ness  of  his  thought  Every  solid  in  the  universe  is  ready  to 
become  fluid  on  the  approach  of  the  mind,  and  the  power  to 
flux  it  is  the  measure  of  the  mind.  If  the  wall  remain  adamant, 
it  accuses  the  want  of  thought.  To  a  subtler  force,  it  will 
stream  into  new  forms,  expressive  of  the  character  of  the  mind. 
What  is  the  city  in  which  we  sit  here,  but  an  aggregate  of 
incongruous  materials,  which  have  obeyed  the  will  of  some 
man  ]  The  granite  was  reluctant,  but  his  hands  were  stronger, 
and  it  came.  Iron  was  deep  in  the  ground,  and  well  com 
bined  with  stone,  but  could  not  hide  from  his  fires.  Wood, 
lime,  stuffs,  fruits,  gums,  were  dispersed  over  the  earth  and 
sea,  in  vain.  Here  they  are,  within  reach  of  every  man's  day- 
labor,  —  what  he  wants  of  them.  The  whole  world  is  the  flux 
of  matter  over  the  wires  of  thought  to  the  poles  or  points 
where  it  would  build.  The  races  of  men  rise  out  of  the  ground 
preoccupied  with  a  thought  which  rules  them,  and  divided  into 
parties  ready  armed  and  angry  to  fight  for  this  metaphysical 
abstraction.  The  quality  of  the  thought  differences  the  Egyp 
tian  and  the  lloman,  the  Austrian  and  the  American.  The 
men  who  come  on  the  stage  at  one  period  are  all  found  to  bo 
related  to  each  other.  Certain  ideas  are  in  the  air.  We  are 
all  impressionable,  for  we  are  made  of  them  ;  all  impression 
able,  but  some  more  than  others,  and  these  first  express  them. 
This  explains  the  curious  contemporaneousness  of  inventions 
and  discoveries.  The  truth  is  in  the  air,  and  the  most  impres 
sionable  brain  will  announce  it  first,  but  all  will  announce  it 
a  few  minutes  later.  So  women,  as  most  susceptible,  are  the 
best  index  of  the  coming  hour.  So  the  great  man,  that  is,  the 
man  most  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  the  time,  is  the  impres 
sionable  man,  —  of  a  fibre  irritable  and  delicate,  like  iodine  to 
li.irht.  He«feels  the  infinitesimal  attractions.  His  mind  is 
righter  than  others,  because  he  yields  to  a  current  so  feeble  as 
can  be  felt  only  by  a  needle  delicately  poised. 

The  correlation  is  shown  in  defects.  M oiler,  in  his  Essay 
on  Architecture,  taught  that  the  building  which  was  fitted  ac 
curately  to  answer  its  end,  would  turn  out  to  be  beautiful, 
though  beauty  had  not  been  intended.  I  find  the  like  unity 
in  human  structures  rather  virulent  and  pervasive  ;  that  a 
crudity  in  the  blood  will  appear  in  the  argument ;  a  hump  in 

VOL'  n.  is  r 


338  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

the  shoulder  will  appear  in  the  speech  and  handiwork.  If 
his  mind  could  be  seen,  the  hump  would  be  seen.  If  a  man 
has  a  seesaw  in  his  voice,  it  will  run  into  his  sentences,  into 
his  poem,  into  the  structure  of  his  fable,  into  his  specula 
tion,  into  his  charity.  And,  as  every  man  is  hunted  by  his 
own  demon,  vexed  by  his  own  disease,  this  checks  all  his 
activity. 

So  each  man,  like  each  plant,  has  his  parasites.  A  strong, 
astringent,  bilious  nature  has  more  truculent  enemies  than  the 
slugs  and  moths  that  fret  my  leaves.  Such  an  one  has  cur- 
culios,  borers,  knife-worms :  a  swindler  ate  him  first,  then  a 
client,  then  a  quack,  then  smooth,  plausible  gentlemen,  bitter 
and  selfish  as  Moloch. 

This  correlation  really  existing  can  be  divined.  If  the 
threads  are  there,  thought  can  follow  and  show  them.  Es 
pecially  when  a  soul  is  quick  and  docile  ;  as  Chaucer  sings  :  — 

"  Or  if  the  soul  of  proper  kind 
Be  so  perfect  as  men  find, 
That  it  wot  what  is  to  come, 
And  that  he  warneth  all  and  some 
Of  every  of  their  aventures, 
By  previsions  or  figures; 
But  that  our  flesh  hath  not  might 
It  to  understand  aright 
For  it  is  warned  too  darkly." 

Some  people  are  made  up  of  rhyme,  coincidence,  omen,  perio 
dicity,  and  presage:  they  meet  the  person  they  seek ;  what 
their  companion  prepares  to  say  to  them,  they  first  say  to 
him ;  and  a  hundred  signs  apprise  them  of  what  is  about  to 
befall. 

Wonderful  intricacy  in  the  web,  wonderful  constancy  in  the 
design,  this  vagabond  life  admits.  We  wonder  how  the  fly 
finds  its  mate,  and  yet  year  after  year  we  find  two  men,  two 
women,  without  legal  or  carnal  tie,  spend  a  great  part  of  their 
best  time  within  a  few  feet  of  each  other.  And  the  moral  is, 
that  what  we  seek  we  shall  find ;  what  we  flee  from  flees  from 
us ;  as  Goethe  said,  "  what  we  wish  for  in  youth,  comes  in 
heaps  on  us  in  old  age,"  too  often  cursed  with  the  granting  of 
our  prayer :  and  hence  the  high  caution,  that,  since  we  are 
sure  of  having  what  we  wish,  we  beware  to  ask  only  for  high 
things. 

One  key,  one  solution  to  the  mysteries  of  human  condition, 
one  solution  to  the  old  knots  of  fate,  freedom  and  foreknowl 
edge,  exists,  the  propounding,  namely,  of  the  double  con 
sciousness.  A  man  must  ride  alternately  on  the  horses  of  his 


FATE.  339 

private  and  his  public  nature,  as  the  equestrians  in  the  circus 
throw  themselves  nimbly  from  horse  to  horse,  or  plant  one  foot 
on  the  back  of  one,  and  the  other  foot  on  the  back  of  the 
other.  So  when  a  man  is  the  victim  of  his  fate,  has  sciatica 
in  his  loins,  and  cramp  in  his  mind  ;  a  club-foot  and  a  club  in 
his  wit ;  a  sour  face,  and  a  selfish  temper  ;  a  strut  in  his  gait, 
and  a  conceit  in  his  affection ;  or  is  ground  to  powder  by  the- 
vice  of  his  race  ;  he  is  to  rally  on  his  relation  to  the  Universe, 
which  his  ruin  benefits.  Leaving  the  demon  who  suffers,  he 
is  to  take  sides  with  the  Deity  who  secures  universal  benefit 
by  his  pain. 

To  offset  the  drag  of  temperament  and  race,  which  pulls 
down,  learn  this  lesson,  namely,  that  by  the  cunning  co-pres 
ence  of  two  elements,  which  is  throughout  nature,  whatever 
lames  or  paralyzes  you,  draws  in  with  it  the  divinity,  in  some 
form,  to  repay.  A  good  intention  clothes  itself  writh  sudden 
power.  When  a  god  wishes  to  ride,  any  chip  or  pebble  will 
bud  and  shoot  out  winged  feet,  and  serve  him  for  a  horse. 

Let  us  build  altars  to  the  Blessed  Unity  which  holds  na 
ture  and  souls  in  perfect  solution,  and  compels  every  atom  to 
serve  an  universal  end.  I  do  not  wonder  at  a  snow-flake,  a 
shell,  a  summer  landscape,  or  the  glory  of  the  stars ;  but  at 
the  necessity  of  beauty  under  which  the  universe  lies ;  that 
all  is  and  must  be  pictorial ;  that  the  rainbow,  and  the  curve 
of  the  horizon,  and  the  arch  of  the  blue  vault,  are  only  results 
from  the  organism  of  the  eye.  There  is  no  need  for  foolish 
amateurs  to  fetch  me  to  admire  a  garden  of  flowers,  or  a  sun- 
gilt  cloud,  or  a  waterfall,  when  I  cannot  look  without  seeing 
splendor  and  grace.  How  idle  to  choose  a  random  sparkle 
here  or  there,  when  the  indwelling  necessity  plants  the  rose  of 
beauty  on  the  brow  of  chaos,  and  discloses  the  central  inten 
tion  of  Nature  to  be  harmony  and  joy. 

Let  us  build  altars  to  the  Beautiful  Necessity.  If  we 
thought  men  were  free  in  the  sense,  that,  in  a  single  excep 
tion  one  fantastical  will  could  prevail  over  the  law  of  things, 
it  were  all  one  as  if  a  child's  hand  could  pull  down  the  sun. 
If,  in  the  least  particular,  one  could  derange  the  order  of  na 
ture,  —  who  would  accept  the  gift  of  life  ? 

Let  us  build  altars  to  the  Beautiful  Necessity,  which  se 
cures  that  all  is  made  of  one  piece ;  that  plaintiff  and  defend 
ant,  friend  and  enemy,  animal  and  planet,  food  and  eater,  are 
of  one  kind.  In  astronomy  is  vast  space,  but  no  foreign  sys 
tem  ;  in  geology,  vast  time,  but  the  same  laws  as  to-day 


340  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

Why  should  we  be  afraid  of  Nature,  which  is  no  other  than 
"  philosophy  and  theology  embodied  "  1  Why  should  we  fear 
to  be  crushed  by  savage  elements,  we  who  are  made  up  of  the 
same  elements'?  Let  us  build  to  the  Beautiful  Necessity, 
which  makes  man  brave  in  believing  that  he  cannot  shun  a 
danger  that  is  appointed,  nor  incur  one  that  is  not ;  to  the  Ne 
cessity  which  rudely  or  softly  educates  him  to  the  perception 
that  there  are  no  contingencies  ;  that  Law  rules  throughout  ex 
istence,  a  Law  which  is  not  intelligent  but  intelligence,  —  not 
personal  nor  impersonal,  —  it  disdains  words  and  passes  under 
standing  ;  it  dissolves  persons  ;  it  vivifies  nature ;  yet  solicits 
the  pure  in  heart  to  draw  on  all  its  omnipotence. 


II. 

POWER. 


flis  tongue  was  framed  to  music, 
And  his  hand  wa-  armed  with  skill, 
His  face  was  the  mould  of  beauty, 
And  his  heart  the  throne  of  will." 


UEI7ERSITT1 


POWER. 


THERE  is  not  yet  any  inventory  of  a  man's  faculties,  any 
more  than  a  bible  of  his  opinions.  Who  shall  set  a  lim 
it  to  the  influence  of  a  human  being  ]  There  are  men,  who, 
by  their  sympathetic  attractions,  carry  nations  with  them,  and 
lead  the  activity  of  the  human  race.  And  if  there  be  such  a 
tie,  that,  wherever  the  mind  of  man  goes,  nature  will  accom 
pany  him,  perhaps  there  are  men  whose  magnetisms  are  of 
that  force  to  draw  material  and  elemental  powers,  and,  where 
they  appear,  immense  instrumentalities  organize  around  them. 
Life  is  a  search  after  power  ;  and  this  is  an  element  with 
which  the  world  is  so  saturated,  —  there  is  no  chink  or  crev 
ice  in  which  it  is  not  lodged,  —  that  no  honest  seeking  goes 
unrewarded.  A  man  should  prize  events  and  possessions  as 
the  ore  in  which  this  fine  mineral  is  found  ;  and  he  can  well 
afford  to  let  events  and  possessions,  and  the  breath  of  the  body 
go,  if  their  value  has  been  added  to  him  in  the  shape  of  pow 
er.  If  he  have  secured  the  elixir,  he  can  spare  the  wide 
gardens  from  which  it  was  distilled.  \  cultivated  man.  wise 
to  know  and  bold  to  perform,  is  the  end  to  which  nature  works, 
and  the  education  of  the  will  is  the  flowering  and  result  of 
all  this  geology  and  astronomy. 

All  successful  men  have  a-iv. •<!  in  one  thing,  —  they  w^ere 
cgwationist*.  They  believed  that  things  wont  not  by  luck, 
but  by  law  ;  that  there  was  not  a  weak  or  a  cracked  link  in 
the  chain  that  joins  the  first  and  last  of  things.  A  belief  in 
causality,  or  strict  connection  between  every  pulse-beat  and  the 
principle  of  being,  and,  in  consequence,  belief  in  computa 
tion,  or,  that  nothing  is  got  for  nothing,  —  character!/- 
valuable  minds,  ami  must  control  every  effort  that  is  mad<-  by 
an  industrious  one.  The  most  valiant  men  are  the  best  believ 
ers  in  the  tension  of  the  laws.  "  All  the  great  captains,"  said 


344  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

Bonaparte,  "  have  performed  vast  achievements  by  conforming 
with  the  rules  of  the  art,  —  by  adjusting  efforts  to  obstacles." 

The  key  to  the  age  may  be  this,  or  that,  or  the  other,  as 
the  young  orators  describe  ;  the  key  to  all  ages  is  —  Imbecili 
ty  ;  imbecility  in  the  vast  majority  of  men,  at  all  times,  and, 
even  in  heroes,  in  all  but  certain  eminent  moments  j  victims 
of  gravity,  custom,  and  fear.  This  gives  force  to  the  strong, 
—  that  the  multitude  have  no  habit  of  self-reliance  or  origi 
nal  action. 

We  must  reckon  success  a  constitutional  trait.  Courage,  — 
the  old  physicians  taught  (and  their  meaning  holds,  if  their 
physiology  is  a  little  mythical), — courage,  or  the  degree  of 
life,  is  as  the  degree  of  circulation  of  the  blood  in  the  arteries^ 
"  During  passion,  anger,  fury,  trials  of  strength,  wrestling, 
fighting,  a  large  amount  of  blood  is  collected  in  the  arteries, 
the  maintenance  of  bodily  strength  requiring  it,  and  but  little 
is  sent  into  the  veins.  This  condition  is  constant  with  intrepid 
persons."  Where  the  arteries  hold  their  blood,  is  courage 
and  adventure  possible.  Where  they  pour  it  unrestrained  into 
the  veins,  the  spirit  is  low  and  feeble.  For  performance  of 
great  mark,  it  needs  extraordinary  health.  If  Eric  is  in  robust 
health,  and  has  slept  well,  and  is  at  the  top  of  his  condition, 
and  thirty  years  old,  at  his  departure  from  Greenland,  he  will 
steer  west,  and  his  ships  will  reach  Newfoundland.  But  take 
out  Eric,  and  put  in  a  stronger  and  bolder  man,  —  Biorn,  or 
Thorfin,  —  and  the  ships  will,  with  just  as  much  ease,  sail  six 
hundred,  one  thousand,  fifteen  hundred  miles  farther,  and 
reach  Labrador  and  New  England.  There  is  no  chance  in  re 
sults.  With  adults,  as  with  children,  one  class  enter  cordially 
into  the  game,  and  whirl  with  the  whirling  world  ;  the  others 
have  cold  hands,  and  remain  bystanders  ;  or  are  only  dragged 
in  by  the  humor  and  vivacity  of  those  who  can  carry  a  dead 
weight.  The  first  wealth  is  health.  Sickness  is  poor-spirited, 
and  cannot  serve  any  one  :  it  must  husband  its  resources  to" 
live.  But  health  or"  fulness  answers  its  own  ends,  and  has  to 
spare,  runs  over,  and  inundates  the  neighborhoods  and  creeks 
of  other  men's  necessities. 

All  power  is  of  one  kind,  a  sharing  of  the  nature  of  the 
world.  The  mind  that  is  parallel  with  the  laws  of  nature  will 
be  in  the  current  of  events,  and  strong  with  their  strength. 
One  man  is  made  of  the  same  stuff  of  which  events  are  made  ; 
:s  in  sympathy  with  the  course  of  things  ;  can  predict  it. 
Whatever  befalls,  befalls  him  first;  so  that  he  is  equal  to 


rowr.u.  345 

whatever  shall  happen.  A  man  who  knows  men,  can  talk  well 
on  politics,  trade,  law.  war,  religion.  For,  everywhere,  men 
are  led  in  the  same  manners. 

The  advantage  of  a  strong  pulse  is  not  to  be  supplied  by 
auv  labor,  art.  <>r  concert.  It  is  like  the  climate,  which  easily 
rears  a  crop,  \\hich  no  glass,  or  irrigation,  or  tillage,  or  manures, 
can  elsewhere  rival.  lr  is  like  the  opportunity  of  a  city  like 
New  York,  or  Constantinople,  which  needs  no  diplomacy  to 
force  capital  or  genius  or  labor  to  it.  They  come  of  themselves, 
as  the  waters  How  to  it.  So  a  broad,  healthy,  massive  un 
derstanding  seems  to  lie  on  the  shore  of  unseen  rivers,  of  un 
seen  oceans,  which  are  covered  with  barks,  that,  night  and  day, 
are  drifted  to  this  point.  That  is  poured  into  its  lap,  which 
other  men  lie  plotting  for.  It  is  in  everybody's  secret ;  anti 
cipates  everybody's  discovery  ;  and  if  it  do  not  command  every 
fact  of  the  genius  and  the  scholar,  it  is  because  it  is  large  and 
sluggish,  and  does  not  think  them  worth  the  exertion  which 
you  do. 

This  affirmative  force  is  in  one,  and  is  not  in  another,  as  one 
horse  has  the  spring  in  him,  and  another  in  the  whip.  "On 
the  neck  of  the  young  man,"  said  Hatiz,  "  sparkles  no  gem  so 
gracious  as  enterprise."  Import  into  any  stationary  district, 
as  into  an  old  Dutch  population  in  New  York  or  Pennsylvania, 
or  among  the  planters  of  Virginia,  a  colony  of  hardy  Yankees, 
with  Nothing  brains,  heads  full  of  steam-hammer,  pulley, 
crank,  and  toothed  wheel,  —  and  everything  begins  to  shine 
with  values.  \Vnat  enhancement  to  all  the  water  and  land  iu 
England,  is  the  arrival  of  James  Watt  or  Brunei  !  In  every 
company,  there  is  not  only  the  active  and  passive  sex,  but  in 
both  men  and  women,  a  deeper  and  more  important  sex  of 
in >',«/.  namely,  the  inventive  or  creative  class  of  both  men  and 
women,  and  the  uninventive  or  accepting  class.  Each  plus 
man  represents  his  ist,  and,  if  he  have  the  ac  -idental  advan- 
•  f  persaual  ascendency,  —  which  implies  neither  more  nor 
•'  talent.  "Wt  merely  the  temperamental  or  taming  eye  of 
a  soldier  or  a  s-.-hn.ihnaster,  (which  one  has,  and  one  has  not, 
as  one  has  a  black  moustache  and  one  a  blond.)  then  quite 
easily  and  without,  envy  or  resistance,  all  his  coadjutors  and 
feeders  will  admit  his  right  to  absorb  them.  The  merchant 
works  by  book-keeper  and  cashier  ;  the  lawyer's  authorities  are 
hunted  up  hv  clerks  :  the  geol<r_:'i»t  reports  rlie  survevs  of  his 
subalterns  ;  Commander  Wilkes  appropriates  the  results  of  all 
the  naturalists  attached  to  the  Expedition ;  Thorwaldsen's 

15* 


346  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

statue  is  finished  by  stone-cutters  ;  Dumas  has  journeymen  ; 
and  Shakespeare  was  theatre-manager,  and  used  the  labor  of 
many  young  men,  as  well  as  the  pi  ay  books. 

There  is  always  room  for  a  man  of  force,  and  he  makes  room 
for  many.  Society  is  a  troop  of  thinkers,  and  the  best  heads 
among  them  take  the  best  places.  A  feeble  man  can  see  the 
farms  that  are  fenced  and  tilled,  the  houses  that  are  built. 
The  strong  man  sees  the  possible  houses  and  farms.  His  eye 
makes  estates,  as  fast  as  the  sun  breeds  clouds. 

When  a  new  boy  comes  into  school,  when  a  man  travels,  and 
encounters  strangers  every  day,  or,  when  into  an  old  club  a 
new  comer  is  domesticated,  that  happens  which  befalls,  when 
a  strange  ox  is  driven  into  a  pen  or  pasture  where  cattle  are 
kept ;  there  is  at  once  a  trial  of  strength  between  the  best  pair 
of  horns  and  the  new  comer,  and  it  is  settled  thenceforth  which 
is  the  leader.  So  now,  there  is 'a  measuring  of  strength,  very 
courteous,  but  decisive,  and  an  acquiescence  thenceforward 
when  these  two  meet.  Each  reads  his  fate  in  the  other's  eyes. 
The  weaker  party  finds,  that  none  of  his  information  or  wit 
quite  fits  the  occasion.  He  thought  he  knew  this  or  that  :  he 
finds  that  he  omitted  to  learn  the  end  of  it.  Nothing  that 
he  knows  will  quite  hit  the  mark,  whilst  all  the  rival's  arrows 
are  good,  and  well  thrown.  But  if  he  knew  all  the  facts  in 
the  encyclopedia,  it  would  not  help  him  :  for  this  is  an  affair 
of  presence  of  mind,  of  attitude,  of  aplomb  :  the  opponent 
has  the  sun  and  wind,  and,  in  every  cast,  the  choice  of  weapon 
and  mark  ;  and,  when  he  himself  is  matched  with  some  other 
antagonist,  his  own  shafts  fly  well  and  hit.  T  is  a  question 
of  stomach  and  constitution.  The  second  man  is  as  good  as 
the  first,  —  perhaps  better  ;  but  has  not  stoutness  or  stomach, 
as  the  first  has,  and  so  his  wit  seems  over-fine  or  under-fine. 

Health  is  good, —power,  life,  that  resists  disease,  poison, 
and  all  enemies,  and  is  conservative,  as  well  as  creative.  Here 
is  question,  every  spring,  whether  to  graft  with  wax,  or 
whether  with  clay  ;  whether  to  whitewash  or  to  potash,  or  to 
prune  ;  but  the  one  point  is  the  thrifty  tree.  A  good  tree, 
that  agrees  with  the  soil,  will  grow  in  spite  of  blight,  or  bug;, 
or  pruning,  or  neglect,  by  night  and  by  day,  in  all  weathers  and 
all  treatments.  Vivacity,  leadership,  must  be  had,  and  we  are 
not  allowed  to  be  nice  in  choosing.  We  must  fetch  the  pump 
with  dirty  water,  if  clean  cannot  be  had.  If  we  will  make 
bread,  we  must  have  contagion,  yeast,  emptyings,  or  what  i 
to  induce  fermentation  into  the  dough  :  as  the  torpid  artist 


POWER.  347 

seeks  inspiration  at  any  cost,  by  virtue  or  by  vice,  by  friend 
or  bv  fiend,  by  prayer  or  by  wine.  And  we  have  a  certain  in 
stinct,  that  where  is  great  amount  of  life,  though  gross  and 
pecymt,  it  has  its  own  checks  and  purifications,  and  will  be 
fount!  at  last  in  harmony  with  moral  laws. 

We  watch  in  children  with  pathetic  interest,  the  degree  in 
which  they  possess  recuperative  force.  When  they  are  hurt 
by  us,  or  by  each  other,  or  go  to  the  bottom  of  the  class,  or 
miss  the  annual  prizes,  or  are  beaten  in  the  game, — if  they 
art,  and  remember  the  mischance  in  their  chamber  at 
home,  they  have  a  serious  check.  But  if  they  have  the  buoy 
ancy  and  resistance  that  preoccupies  them  with  new  interest 
in  the  new  moment,  —  the  wounds  cicatrize,  and  the  fibre  is 
the  tougher  for  the  hurt. 

One  comes  to  value  this  plus  health,  when  he  sees  that  all 
difficulties  vanish  before  it.  A  timid  man  listening  to  the 
alarmists  in  Congress,  and  in  the  newspapers,  and  observing 
the  profligacy  of  party,  —  sectional  interests  urged  with  a  fury 
which  shuts  its  eyes  to  consequences,  with  a  mind  made  up  to 
desperate  extremities,  ballot  in  one  hand,  and  rifle  in  the 
other,  —  might  easily  believe  that  he  and  his  country  have 
•seen  their  best  days,  and  he  hardens  himself  the  best  he  can 
against  the  coming  ruin.  But.  after  this  has  been  foretold 
with  equal  confidence  fifty  times,  and  government  six  per 
cents  have  not  declined  a  quarter  of  a  mill,  he  discovers  that 
the  enormous  elements  of  strength  which  are  here  in  play 
make  our  politics  unimportant.  Personal  power,  freedom,  and 
the  resources  of  nature  strain  every  faculty  of  every  citizen. 
We  prosper  with  such  vigor,  that,  like  thrifty  trees,  which 
crow  in  spite  of  ice,  lice,  mice,  and  borers,  so  we  do  not  suffer 
from  the  profligate  swarms  that  fatten  on  the  national  treasury. 
The  huge  animals  nourish  huge  parasites,  and  the  rancor  of 
the  disease  attests  the  strength  of  the  constitution.  The 
same  energy  in  the  Greek  Demos  drew  the  remark,  that  the 
evils  of  popular  government  appear  greater  than  they  are  ; 
there  is  compensation  for  them  in  the  spirit  and  energy  it 
awakens.  The  rough-and -ready  style  which  belongs  to  a  peo 
ple  of  sailors,  foresters,  fanners,  and  mechanics,  has  its  ad 
vantages.  Power  educates  the  potentate.  As  long  as  our 
people  quote  English  standards  they  dwarf  their  own  propor 
tions.  A  Westi-rn  lawyer  of  eminence  said  to  me  he  wished 
it  were  a  penal  offence  to  bring  an  English  law-book  into  a 
court  in  this  country,  so  pernicious  had  he  found  in  his  expe- 


348  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

rience  our  deference  to  English  precedent.  The  very  word 
*  commerce '  has  only  an  English  meaning,  and  is  pinched  to 
the  cramp  exigencies  of  English  experience.  The  commerce 
of  rivers,  the  commerce  of  railroads,  and  who  knows  but\  the 
commerce  of  air-balloons,  must  add  an  American  extension  to 
the  pond-hole  of  admiralty.  As  long  as  our  people  quote 
English  standards,  they  will  miss  the  sovereignty  of  power ; 
but  let  these  rough  riders,  —  legislators  in  shirt-sleeves,  — 
Hoosier,  Sucker,  Wolverine,  Badger,  —  or  whatever  hard  head 
Arkansas,  Oregon,  or  Utah  sends,  half  orator,  half  assassin,  to 
represent  its  wrath  and  cupidity  at  Washington,  —  let  these 
drive  as  they  may ;  and  the  disposition  of  territories  and  pub 
lic  lands,  the  necessity  of  balancing  and  keeping  at  bay  the 
snarling  majorities  of  German,  Irish,  and  of  native  millions, 
will  bestow  promptness,  address,  and  reason,  at  last,  on  our 
buffalo-hunter,  and  authority  and  majesty  of  manners.  The 
instinct  of  the  people  is  right.  Men  expect  from  good  whigs, 
put  into  office  by  the  respectability  of  the  country,  much  less 
skill  to  deal  with  Mexico,  Spain,  Britain,  or  with  our  own  mal 
content  members,  than  from  some  strong  transgressor,  like 
Jefferson,  or  Jackson,  who  first  conquers  his  own  government, 
and  then  uses  the  same  genius  to  conquer  the  foreigner.  The 
senators  who  dissented  from  Mr.  Folk's  Mexican  Avar  were  not 
those  who  knew  better,  but  those  who,  from  political  position, 
could  afford  it ;  not  Webster,  but  Benton  and  Calhoun. 

This  power,  to  be  sure,  is  not  clothed  in  satin.  T  is  the 
power  of  Lynch  law,  of  soldiers  and  pirates ;  and  it  bullies  the 
peaceable  and  loyal.  But  it  brings  its  own  antidote  ;  and  here 
is  my  point,  —  that  all  kinds  of  power  usually  emerge  at  the 
same  time  ;  good  energy,  and  bad  ;  power  of  mind,  with  physi 
cal  health ;  the  ecstasies  of  devotion,  with  the  exasperations 
of  debauchery.  The  same  elements  are  always  present,  only 
sometimes  these  conspicuous,  and  sometimes  those ;  what  was 
yesterday  foreground,  being  to-day  background,  —  what  was 
surface,  playing  now  a  not  less  effective  part  as  basis.  The 
longer  the  drought  lasts,  the  more  is  the  atmosphere  sur 
charged  with  water.  The  faster  the  ball  falls  to  the  sun,  the 
force  to  fly  off  is  by  so  much  augmented.  And,  in  morals, 
wild  liberty  breeds  iron  conscience ;  natures  with  great  im 
pulses  have  great  resources,  and  return  from  far.  In  politics, 
the  sons  of  democrats  will  be  whigs  ;  whilst  red  republicanism, 
in  the  father,  is  a  spasm  of  nature  to  engender  an  intolerable 
tyrant  in  the  next  age.  On  the  other  hand,  conservatism,  ever 


POWER.  349 

more  timorous  and  narrow,  disgusts  the  children,  and  drives 
them  for  a  mouthful  of  fresh  air  into  radicalism. 

Those  who  have  most  of  this  coarse  energy,  —  the  '  bruisers,' 
who  have  run  the  gauntlet  of  caucus  and  tavern  through  the 
county  or  the  state,  have  their  own  vices,  but  they  have  the 
good-nature  of  strength  and  courage.  Fierce  and  unscrupu 
lous,  they  are  usually  frank  and  direct,  and  above  falsehood. 
Our  politics  fall  into  bad  hands,  and  churchmen  and  men  of 
refinement,  it  seems  agreed,  are  not  fit  .persons  to  send  to  Con 
gress.  Politics  is  a  deleterious  profession,  like  some  poisonous 
handicrafts.  Men  in  power  have  no  opinions,  but  may  be  had 
cheap  for  any  opinion,  for  any  purpose,  — and  if  it  be  only  a 
question  bctwcen'the  most  civil  and  the  most  forcible,  I  lean  to 
the  last.  These  Hoosiers  and  Suckers  arc  really  better  than 
the  snivelling  opposition.  Their  wrath  is  at  least  of  a  bold 
and  manly  cast.  They  see,  against  the  unanimous  declarations 
of  the  people,  how  much  crime  the  people  will  bear ;  they  pro 
ceed  from  step  to  step,  and  they  have  calculated  but  too  justly 
upon  their  Excellencies,  the  New  England  governors  and  upon 
their  Honors,  the  New  England  legislators.  The  messages  of 
the  governors  and  the  resolutions  of  the  legislatures  are  a 
proverb  for  expressing  a  sham  virtuous  indignation,  which,  in 
the  course  of  events,  is  sure  to  be  belied. 

In  trade,  also,  this  energy  usually  carries  a  trace  of  ferocity. 
Philanthropic  and  religious  bodies  do  not  commonly  make  their 
executive  officers  out  of  saints.  The  communities  hitherto 
founded  by  Socialists,  —  the  Jesuits,  the  Port-Royalists,  the 
American  communities  at  New  Harmony,  at  Brook  Farm,  at 
Zoar,  are  only  possible,  by  installing  Judas  as  steward.  The 
rest  of  the  offices  may  be  filled  by  good  burgesses.  The  pious 
and  charitable  proprietor  has  a  foreman  not  quite  so  pious  and 
charitable.  The  most  amiable  of  country  gentlemen  has  a 
certain  pleasure  in  the  teeth  of  the  bulldog  which  guards  his 
orchard.  Of  the  Shaker  society,  it  was  formerly  a  sort  of 
proverb  in  the  country,  that  they  always  sent  the  devil  to 
market.  And  in  representations  of  the  Deity,  painting,  poetry, 
and  popular  religion  have  ever  drawn  the  wrath  from  Hell. 
It  is  an  esoteric  doctrine  of  society,  that  a  little  wickedness  is 
good  to  make  muscle  ;  as  if  conscience  were  not  good  for  hands 
and  legs,  as  if  poor  decayed  formalists  of  law  and  order  cannot 
run  like  wild  goats,  wolves,  and  conies  ;  that,  as  there  is  a  use 
in  medicine  for  poisons,  so  the  world  cannot  move  without 
rogues  ;  that  public  spirit  and  the  ready  hand  are  as  well  found 


350  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

among  the  malignants.  'T  is  not  very  rare,  the  coincidence  of 
sharp  private  and  political  practice,  with  public  spirit,  and  good 
neighborhood. 

I  knew  a  burly  Boniface  who  for  many  years  kept  a  public- 
house  in  one  of  our  rural  capitals.  He  was  a  knave  whom  the 
town  could  ill  spare.  He  was  a  social,  vascular  creature, 
grasping  and  selfish.  There  was  no  crime  which  he  did  not  or 
could  not  commit.  But  he  made  good  friends  of  the  selectmen, 
served  them  with  his  best  chop,  when  they  supped  at  his  house, 
and  also  with  his  honor  the  Judge,  he  was  very  cordial,  grasp 
ing  his  hand.  He  introduced  all  the  fiends,  male  and  female, 
into  the  town,  and  united  in  his  person  the  functions  of  buJly, 
incendiary,  swindler,  bar-keeper,  and  burglar.  He  girdled  the 
trees,  and  cut  off  the  horses'  tails  of  the  temperance  people, 
in  the  night,  He  led  the  *  rummies '  and  radicals  in  town- 
meeting  with  a  speech.  Meantime,  he  was  civil,  fat,  arid  easy, 
in  his  house,  and  precisely  the  most  public-spirited  citizen.  He 
was  active  in  getting  the  roads  repaired  and  planted  with 
shade-trees  ;  he  subscribed  for  the  fountains,  the  gas,  and  the 
telegraph  ;  he  introduced  the  new  horse-rake,  the  new  scraper, 
the  baby-jumper,  and  what  not,  that  Connecticut  sends  to  the 
admiring  citizens.  He  did  this  the  easier,  that  the  pedler 
stopped  at  his  house,  and  paid  his  keeping,  by  setting  up  his 
new  trap  on  the  landlord's  premises. 

Whilst  thus  the  energy  for  originating  and  executing  work 
deforms  itself  by  excess,  and  so  our  axe  chops  off  our  own 
fingers,  —  this  evil  is  not  without  remedy.  All  the  elements 
whose  aid  man  calls  in  will  sometimes  become  his  masters, 
especially  those  of  most  subtle  force.  Shall  he,  then,  renounce 
steam,  fire,  and  electricity,  or  shall  he  learn  to  deal  with  them  1 
The  rule  for  this  whole  class  of  agencies  is,  —  all  plus  is  good ; 
T)nly  put  it  in  the  right  place. 

Men  of  this  surcharge  of  arterial  blood  cannot  live  on  nuts, 
herb-tea,  and  elegies  ;  cannot  read  novels,  and  play  whist ; 
cannot  satisfy  all  their  wants  at  the  Thursday  Lecture,  or  the 
Boston  Athenseum.  They  pine  for  adventure,  and  must  go  to 
Pike's  Peak ;  had  rather  die  by  the  hatchet  of  a  Pawnee,  than 
eit  all  day  and  every  day  at  a  counting-room  desk.  They  are 
made  for  war,  for  the  sea,  for  mining,  hunting,  and  clearing  ; 
for  hair-breadth  adventures,  huge  risks,  and  the  joy  of  eventful 
living.  Some  men  cannot  endure  an  hour  of  calm  at  sea.  I 
remember  a  poor  Malay  cook,  on  board  a  Liverpool  packet, 
who,  when  the  wind  blew  a  gale,  could  not  contain  his  joy ; 


POWER.  351 

11  Blow  !  "  he  cried,  "  me  do  tell  you,  blow  !  "  Their  friends 
And  governors  must  see  that  some  vent  for  their  explosive  com 
plexion  is  provided.  The  roisters  who  ;ire  destined  for  infamy 
at  home,  if  sent  to  Mexico,  will  "cover  you  with  glory,"  and 
come  back  heroes  and  generals.  There  are  Oregons,  ( 'aliibrnias, 
and  KxploriiiL'  Kxpeditions  enough  :ippertaining  to  America, 
to  find  them  in  files  t<>  LHKIW.  and  in  crocodiles  to  eat.  The 
young  Kngli>h  arc  tine  animals,  full  of  blood,  and  when  they 
'have  no  wars  to  breathe  their  riotous  valors  in,  they  seek  for 
travels  as  dangerous  as  war,  diving  into  Maelstroms  ;  swimming 
Hellesponts  ;  wading  up  the  snowy  Himmaleh  ;  hunting  lion, 
rhinoceros,  elephant,  in  South  Africa  ;  gypsying  with  Borrow 
in  Spain  and  Algiers;  riding  alligators  in  South  America  with 
"\Vaterton  ;  utilizing  Bedouin,  Sheik,  and  Pacha,  with  Layard  ; 
yachting  among  the  icebergs  of  Lancaster  Sound  ;  peeping  into 
craters  on  the  equator ;  or  running  on  the  creases  of  Malays 
in  Borneo. 

The  excess  of  virility  has  the  same  importance  in  general 
history,  as  in  private  and  industrial  life.  Strong  race  or 
strong  individual  rests  at  last  on  natural  forces,  which  are  best 
in  the  savage,  who,  like  the  beasts  around  him,  is  still  in  re 
ception  of  the  milk  from  the  teats  of  Nature.  Cut  off  the 
connection  between  any  of  our  works,  and  this  aboriginal 
source,  and  the  work  is  shallow.  The  people  lean  on  this,  and 
the  mob  is  not  quite  so  bad  an  argument  as  we  sometimes  say, 
for  it  has  this  good  side.  "  March  without  the  people,"  said  a 
French  deputy  from  the  tribune,  "  and  you  march  into  night : 
their  instincts  are  a  finger-pointing  of  providence,  always 
turned  toward  real  benefit.  But  when  you  espouse  an  Orleans 
party,  or  a  Bourbon,  or  a  Montalembert  party,  or  any  other 
but  an  organic  party,  though  yon  mean  well,  you  have  a  per 
sonality  instead  of  a  principle,  which  will  inevitably  drag  you 
into  a  corner." 

The  best  anecdotes  of  this  force  are  to  be  had  from  savage 
life,  in  explorers,  soldiers,  and  buccaneers.  But  who  cares 
for  fallings-out  of  assassins,  and  tights  of  bears,  or  grinding 
of  icebergs]  Physical  force  has  n»»  value,  where  there  is  noth 
ing  else.  Snow  in  snow-banks^  fire  in  volcanoes  and  soltataras 
is  cheap.  The  luxury  of  ice  is  in  tropical  countries,  and  mid 
summer  days.  The  luxury  of  fire  is,  to  have  a  little  on  our 
hearth  :  and  of  electricity,  not  volleys  of  the  charged  cloud, 
but  the  manageable  stream  on  the  battery -wires.  So  of  spirit, 
or  energy  ;  the  rests  or  remains  of  it  in  the  civil  and  moral  / 
man  are  worth  all  the  cannibals  in  the  Pacific. 


352  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

In  history,  the  great  moment  is,  when  the  savage  is  just 
ceasing  to  be  a  savage,  with  all  his  hairy  Pelasgic  strength 
directed  on  his  opening  sense  of  beauty  :  —  and  you  have 
Pericles  and  Phidias,  —  not  yet  passed  over  into  the  Corin 
thian  civility.  Everything  good  in  nature  and  the  world  is  in 
that  moment  of  transition,  when  the  swarthy  juices  still  flow 
plentifully  from  nature,  but  their  astringency  or  acridity  is 
got  out  by  ethics  and  humanity. 

The  triumphs  of  peace  have  been  in  some  proximity  to 
war.  Whilst  the  hand  was  still  familiar  with  the  sword-hilt, 
whilst  the  habits  of  the  camp  were  still  visible  in  the  port 
and  complexion  of  the  gentleman,  his  intellectual  power  cul 
minated  ;  the  compression  and  tension  of  these  stern  condi 
tions  is  a  training  for  the  finest  and  softest  arts,  and  can 
rarely  be  compensated  in  tranquil  times,  except  by  some  anal 
ogous  vigor  drawn  from  occupations  as  hardy  as  war. 

We  say  that  success  is  constitutional ;  depends  on  a  plus 
condition  of  mind  and  body,  on  power  of  work,  on  courage  \ 
that  it  is  of  main  efficacy  in  carrying  on  the  world,  and, 
though  rarely  found  in  the  right  state  for  an  article  of  com 
merce,  but  oftener  in  the  supersaturate  or  excess,  which  makes 
it  dangerous  and  destructive,  yet  it  cannot  be  spared,  and 
must  be  had  in  that  form,  and  absorbents  provided  to  take 
oft"  its  edge. 

The  affirmative  class  monopolize  the  homage  of  mankind. 
They  originate  and  execute  all  the  great  feats.  What  a  force 
was  coiled  up  in  the  skull  of  Napoleon  !  Of  the  sixty  thou 
sand  men  making  his  army  at  Eylau,  it  seems  some  thirty 
thousand  were  thieves  and  burglars.  The  men  whom,  in 
peaceful  communities,  we  hold  if  we  can,  with  iron  at  their 
legs,  in  prisons,  under  the  muskets  of  sentinels,  this  man  dealt 
with,  hand  to  hand,  dragged  them  to  their  duty,  and  won 
his  victories  by  their  bayonets. 

This  aboriginal  might  gives  a  surprising  pleasure  when  it 
appears  under  conditions  of  supreme  refinement,  as  in  the 
proficients  in  high  art.  When  Michel  Angelo  was  forced  to 
paint  the  Sistine  Chapel  in  fresco,  of  which  art  he  knew  noth 
ing,  he  went  down  into  the  Pope's  gardens  behind  the  Vatican, 
and  with  a  shovel  dug  out  ochres,  red  and  yellow,  mixed  them 
with  glue  and  water  with  his  own  hands,  and  having,  after 
many  trials,  at  last  suited  himself,  climbed  his  ladders,  and 
painted  away,  week  after  week,  month  after  mouth,  the  sibyls 
and  prophets.  He  surpassed  his  successors  in  rough  vigor,  as 


POWER.  353 

much  as  in  purity  of  intellect  and  refinement.  He  was  not 
crushed  by  his  one  picture  left  unfinished  at  last.  Michel  was 
wont  to  draw  his  figures  first  in  skeleton,  then  to  clothe  them 
with  flesh,  and  lastly  to  drape  them.  "  Ah  ! "  said  a  brave 
painter  to  me,  thinking  on  these  things,  "  if  a  man  has  failed, 
you  will  find  he  has  dreamed  instead  of  working.  There  is 
no  wuy  to  success  in  our  art,  but  to  take  off  your  coat,  grind 
paint,  and  work  like  a  digger  on  the  railroad,  all  day  and  every 
day." 

Success  goes  thus  invariably  with  a  certain  phis  or  positive 
power  :  an  ounce  of  power  must  balance  an  ounce  of  weight. 
And.  though  a  man  eaimot  return  into  his  mother's  womb,  :md 
be  born  with  new  amounts  of  vivacity,  yet  there  are  two  econo 
mies,  which  are  the  best  succedanea  which  the  case  admits. 
The  first  is,  the  stopping  oft'  decisively  our  miscellaneous  activ 
ity,  and  concentrating  our  force  on  one  or  a  few  points  ;  as  the 
gardener,  by  severe  pruning,  forces  the  sap  of  the  tree  into  one 
or  two  vigorous  limbs,  instead  of  suffering  it  to  spindle  into  a 
sheaf  of  twigs. 

"  Enlarge  not  thy  destiny,"  said  the  'oracle  :  "  endeavor  not 
to  do  more  than  is  given  thee  in  charge."  The  one  prudence 
in  life  is  concentration  ;  the  one  evil  is  dissipation  :  and  it 
makes  no  difference  whether  our  dissipations  are  coarse  or 
fine  ;  property  and  its  cares,  friends?  and  a  social  habit,  or 
politics,  or  music,  or  feasting.  Everything  is  good  which  takes 
away  <me  plaything  and  delusion  more,  and  drives  us  home  to 
add  one  stroke  of  faithful  work.  Friends,  books,  pictures, 
lower  duties,  talents,  flatteries,  hopes,  —  all  are  distractions 
which  cause  oscillations  in  our  giddy  balloon,  and  make  a  good 
poise  and  a  straight  course  impossible.  You  must  elect  your 
work  ;  you  shall  take  what  your  brain  can,  and  drop  all  the  rest. 
Only  so,  can  that  amount  of  vital  force  accumulate,  which 
can  make  the  step  from  knowing  to  doing.  No  matter  how 
much  faculty  of  idle  seeing  a  man  has,  the  step  from  knowing 
to  doiiiLT  is  rarely  taken.  T  is  a  step  out  of  a  chalk  circle  of 
imbecility  into  fruitfulness.  Many  an  artist  lacking  this,  lacks 
all :  he  sees  the  masculine  Angelo  or  Cellini  with  despair. 
He,  too,  is  up  t«i  Nature  and  the  First  Cause  in  his  thought. 
But  the  spasm  to  collect  and  swing  his  whole  being  into  one 
act,  he  has  not.  The  poet  Campbell  said,  that  "a  man  ac 
customed  to  work  was  equal  to  any  achievement  he  resolved 
on,  and,  that,  for  himself,  necessity,  not  inspiration,  was  the 
prompter  of  his  muse." 


354  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

x  Concentration  is  the  secret  of  strength__in  politics,  in  war, 
in  trade,  in  short,  in  all  management  of  human  affairs.  One 
of  the  high  anecdotes  of  the  world  is  the  reply  of  Newton  to  the 
inquiry,  "  how  he  had  been  able  to  achieve  his  discoveries'?" 
"  By  always  intending  my  mind."  Or  if  you  will  have  a 
text  from  politics,  take  this  from  Plutarch  :  "  There  was,  in 
the  whole  city,  but  one  street  in  which  Pericles  was  ever  seen, 
the  street  which  led  to  the  market-place  and  the  council-house. 
He  declined  all  invitations  to  banquets,  and  all  gay  assemblies 
and  company.  During  the  whole  period  of  his  administration, 
he  never  dined  at  the  table  of  a  friend."  Or  if  we  seek  an 
example  from  trade,  —  "I  hope,"  said  a  good  man  to  Roth 
schild,  "  your  children  are  not  too  fond  of  money  and  business  : 
I  am  sure  you  would  not  wish  that."  "  I  am  sure  I  should 
wish  that :  I  wish  them  to  give  mind,  soul,  heart,  and  body  to 
business,  —  that  is  the  way  to  be  happy.  It  requires  a  great 
deal  of  boldness  and  a  great  deal  of  caution  to  make  a  great 
fortune,  and  when  you  have  got  it,  it  requires  ten  times  as 
much  wit  to  keep  it.  If  I  were  to  listen  to  all  the  projects 
proposed  to  me,  I  should  ruin  myself  very  soon.  Stick  to  one 
business,  young  man.  Stick  to  your  brewery  (he  said  this  to 
young  Buxton),  and  you  will  be  the  great  brewer  of  London. 
Be  brewer,  and  banker,  and  merchant,  and  manufacturer,  and 
you  will  soon  be  in  the  Gazette." 

Many  men  are  knowing,  many  are  apprehensive  and  tena 
cious,  but  they  do  not  rush  to  a  decision.  But  in  our  flow 
ing  affairs  a  decision  must  be  made,  —  the  best,  if  you  can  ; 
but  any  is  better  than  none.  There  are  twenty  ways  of  going 
to  a  point,  and  one  is  the  shortest ;  but  set  out  at  once  on 
one.  A  man  who  has  that  presence  of  mind  which  can  bring 
to  him  on  the  instant  all  he  knows,  is  worth  for  action  a  dozen 
men  who  know  as  much,  but  can  only  bring  it  to  light  slowly. 
The  good  Speaker  in  the  House  is  not  the  man  who  knows  the 
theory  of  parliamentary  tactics,  but  the  man  who  decides  off 
hand.  The  good  judge  is  not  he  who  does  hair-splitting  justice 
to  every  allegation,  but  who,  aiming  at  substantial  justice, 
rules  something  intelligible  for  the  guidance  of  suitors.  The 
good  lawyer  is  not  the  man  who  has  an  eye  to  every  side  and 
angle  of  contingency,  and  qualifies  all  his  qualifications,  but 
who  throws  himself  on  your  part  so  heartily,  that  he  can  get 
you  out  of  a  scrape.  Dr.  Johnson  said,  in  one  of  his  flowing 
sentences  :  "  Miserable  beyond  all  names  of  wretchedness  is 
that  unhappy  pair,  who  are  doomed  to  reduce  beforehand  to  the 


POWER.  355 

principles  of  abstract  reason  all  the  details  of  each  domestic 
day.  There  are  cases  where  little  can  be  said,  and  much  must 
be  done," 

The  second  substitute  for  temperament  is  drill,  the  power 
of  use  and  routine.  The  hack  is  a  better  roadster  than  the  | 
Arab  barb.  In  chemistry,  the  galvanic  stream,  slow,  but  con 
tinuous,  is  equal  in  power  to  the  electric  spark,  and  is,  in  our 
arts,  a  better  agent  So  in  human  action,  against  the  spasm  • 
of  energy,  we  offset  the  continuity  of  drill.  We  spread  the 
same  amount  of  force  over  much  time,  instead  of  condensing  1 
it  into  a  moment.  'T  is  the  same  ounce  of  gold  here  in  a  ball, 
and  there  in  a  leaf.  At  West  Point,  Col.  Buford,  the  chief 
engineer,  pounded  with  a  hammer  on  the  trunnions  of  a  can 
non,  until  he  broke  them  off.  He  fired  a  piece  of  ordnance 
some  hundred  times  in  swift  succession,  until  it  burst  Now  / 
which  stroke  broke  the  trunnion  1  Every  stroke.  Which  blast 
burst  the  piece  ?  Every  blast.  "Diliyen.ce  passe  sens,""  Henry 
VIII.  was  wont  to  say,  or,  great  is  drill.  John  Kemble  said, 
that  the  worst  provincial  company  of  actors  would  go  through  a 
play  better  than  the  best  amateur  company.  Basil  Hall  likes 
to  show  that  the  worst  regular  troops  will  beat  the  best  volun 
teers.  Practice  is  nine  tenths.  A  course  of  mobs  is  good 
practice  for  orators.  All  the  great  speakers  were  bad  speakers 
at  first  Stumping  it  through  England  for  seven  years  made 
Cobden  a  consummate  debater.  Stumping  it  through  New 
England  for  twice  seven  trained  Wendell  Phillips.  The  way  ' 
to  learn  German,  is,  to  read  the  same  dozen  pages  over  and 
over  a  hundred  times,  till  you  know  every  word  and  particle 
in  them  and  can  pronounce  and  repeat  them  by  heart.  No 
genius  can  recite  a  ballad  at  first  reading,  so  well  as  medioc 
rity  can  at  the  fifteenth  or  twentieth  reading.  The  rule  for 
hospitality  and  Irish  'help,'  is,  to  have  the  same  dinner  every 
day  throughout  the  year.  At  last,  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  learns 
to  cook  it  to  a  nicety,  the  host  learns  to  carve  it,  and  the 
guests  are  well  served.  A  humorous  friend  of  mine  thinks, 
that  the  reason  why  Nature  is  so  perfect  in  her  art,  and  gets 
up  such  inconceivably  fine  sunsets,  is,  that  she  has  learned 
how,  at  last,  by  dint  of  doing  the  same  thing  so  very  often. 
Cannot  one  converse  better  on  a  topic  on  which  he  has  experi 
ence,  than  on  one  which  is  new  ?  Men  whose  opinion  is 
valued  on  'Change,  are  only  such  as  have  a  special  experience, 
and  off  that  ground  their  opinion  is  not  valuable.  "  More 
are  made  good  by  exercitation,  than  by  nature,"  said  Democ- 


356  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

ritus.  The  friction  in  nature  is  so  enormous  that  we  cannot 
spare  any  power.  It  is  not  question  to  express  our  thought, 
to  elect  our  way,  but  to  overcome  resistances  of  the  medium 
and  material  in  everything  we  do.  Hence  the  use  of  drill,  and 
the  worthlessness  of  amateurs  to  cope  with  practitioners.  Six 
hours  every  day  at  the  piano,  only  to  give  facility  of  touch  ;  six 
hours  a  day  at  painting,  only  to  give  command  of  the  odious 
materials,  oil,  ochres,  and  brushes.  The  masters  say  that 
they  know  a  master  in  music,  only  by  seeing  the  pose  of  the 
hands  on  the  keys  ; —  so  difficult  and  vital  an  act  is  the  com 
mand  of  the  instrument.  To  have  learned  the  use  of  the 
tools,  by  thousands  of  manipulations;  to  have  learned  the  arts 
of  reckoning,  by  endless  adding  and  dividing,  is  the  power  of 
the  mechanic  and  the  clerk. 

I  remarked  in  England,  in  confirmation  of  a  frequent  ex 
perience  at  home,  that,  in  literary  circles,  the  men  of  trust 
£nd  consideration,  bookmakers,  editors,  university  deans  and 
professors,  bishops,  too,  were  by  no  means  men  of  the  largest 
literary  talent,  but  usually  of  a  low  and  ordinary  intellectual 
ity,  with  a  sort  of  mercantile  activity  and  working  talent. 
Indifferent  hacks  and  mediocrities  tower,  by  pushing  their 
forces  to  a  lucrative  point,  or  by  working  power,  over  multi 
tudes  of  superior  men,  in  Old  as  in  New  England. 

I  have  not  forgotten  that  there  are  sublime  considerations 
which  limit  the  value  of  talent  and  superficial  success.  We 
can  easily  overpraise  the  vulgar  hero.  There  are  sources  on 
which  we  have  not  drawn.  I  know  what  I  abstain  from.  I 
adjourn  what  I  have  to  say  on  this  topic  to  the  chapters  on 
Culture  and  Worship.  But  this  force  or  spirit,  being  the 
means  relied  on  by  Nature  for  bringing  the  work  of  the  day 
about,  —  as  far  as  we  attach  importance  to  household  life,  and 
the  prizes  of  the  world,  we  must  respect  that.  And  I  hold, 
that  an  economy  maybe  applied  to  it ;  it  is  as  much  a  subject 
of  exact'  law  and  arithmetic  as  fluids  and  gases  are  ;  it  may  be 
husbanded,  or  wasted  ;  every  man  is  efficient  only  as  he  is  a 
container  or  vessel  of  this  force,  and  never  was  any  signal  act 
or  achievement  in  history,  but  by  this  expenditure.  This 
is  not  gold,  but  the  gold -maker;  not  the  fame,  but  the  ex 
ploit. 

If  these  forces  and  this  husbandry  are  within  reach  of  our 
will,  and  the  laws  of  them  can  be  read,  we  infer  that  all  suc 
cess,  and  all  conceivable  benefit  for  man,  is  also,  first  or  last, 
within  his  reach,  and  has  its  own  sublime  economies  by  which 


POWI.K.  357 

it  may  be  attained.     Tin-   world  is  mathematical,  and  has  no 

casualty,  in  all  its  vast  and  flowing  curve.  Success  has  no 
more  eccentricity,  than  the  ginuham  and  muslin  we  weave  in 
our  mills.  1  know  no  more  aHcctin^  lesson  to  our  busy,  plot 
ting  New  KiiLrland  brains,  than  to  go  into  one  of  the  factories 
with  which  we  have  lined  all  the  water-courses  in  the  States. 
A  man  hardly  knows  how  much  he  is  a  machine,  until  he  be 
gins  to  make  telegraph,  loom,  press,  and  locomotive,  in  his 
own  image.  But  in  these,  he  is  forced  to  leave  out  his  follies 
and  hindrances,  so  that  when  we  go  to  the  mill,  the  machine 
is  more  moral  than  we.  Let  a  man  dare  go  to  a  loom,  and  see 
if  he  be  equal  to  it.  Let  machine  confront  machine,  and  see 
how  they  come  out.  The  world-mill  is  more  complex  than  the 
calico-mill,  and  the  architect  stooped  less.  In  the  gingham- 
mill,  a  broken  thread  or  a  shred  spoils  the  web  through  a 
piece  of  a  hundred  yards,  and  is  traced  back  to  the  girl  that 
wove  it,  and  lessens  her  wauvs.  The  stockholder,  on  being 
shown  this,  rubs  his  hands  with  delight.  Are  you  so  cunning, 
Mr.  Profitless,  and  do  you  expect  to  swindle  your  master  and 
employer,  in  the  web  you  weave  1  A  day  is  a  more  magnificent 
cloth  than  any  muslin,  the  mechanism  that  makes  it  is  in 
finitely  cunninger,  and  you  shall  not  conceal  the  slcezy,  fraudu 
lent,  rotten  hours  you  have  slipped  into  the  piece,  nor  fear 
that  any  honest  thread,  or  straighter  steel,  or  more  inflexible 
shaft,  will  not  testify  in  the  web. 


III. 
WEALTH. 


Who  shall  tell  what  did  befall, 

Far  away  in  time,  when  once, 

Over  the  lifeless  ball, 

Hung  idle  stars  and  -uns? 

What  god  the  element  obeyed  ? 

Wings  of  what  wind  the  lichen  bore, 

Waning  the  puny  seeds  of  power, 

Which,  lodged  in  rock,  the  rock  abrade? 

And  well  the  primal  pioneer 

Knew  the  -trong  task  to  it  assigned 

Patient  through  Heaven's  enormous  year 

To  build  in  matter  home  for  mind. 

From  air  the  creeping  centuries  drew 

The  matted  thicket  low  and  wide, 

This  must  the  leaves  of  ages  strew 

The  granite  slab  to  clothe  and  hide, 

Ere  wheat  can  wave  its  golden  pride. 

What  smiths  and  in  what  furnace,  rolled 

(In  dizxv  a'ons  dim  and  mute 

The  reeling  brain  can  ill  compute) 

Copper  and  iron,  lead,  and  gold? 

What  oldest  star  the  fame  can  save 

Of  races  perishing  to  pave 

The  planet  with  a  floor  of  lime? 

Dust  is  their  pyramid  and  mole: 

Who  saw  what  ferns  and  palms  were  pressed 

Under  the  tumbling  mountain's  breast, 

In  tho  safe  herbal  of  the  coal  ? 

But  when  the  quarried  means  were  piled, 

All  is  waste  and  worthless,  till 

Arrives  the  \vj-e  -electing  will. 

And,  out  of  slime  and  chaos,  Wit 

Draws  the  threads  of  fair  and  fit. 

Then  temples  rose,  and  towns,  and  marts, 

The  shop  of  toil,  the  hall  of  arts ; 

Then  flew  the  sail  across  the  seas 

To  feed  the  North  from  tropic  trees; 

The  storm-wind  wove,  the  torrent  span, 

Where  they  were  bid  the  rivers  ran; 

New  slaves  fulfilled  the  poet's  dream, 

Galvanic  wire,  strong-shouldered  steam. 

Then  docks  were  built,  and  crops  were  stored, 

And  ingot-  added  to  tin-  hoard. 

But,  though  light-headed  man  forget, 

Remembering  Matter  pay-  her  debt: 

Still,  through  her  mote-  ami  ma-ses,  draw 

Klectric  thrills  and  tie<  of  Law, 

Which  bind  the  strengths  of  Nature  wild 

To  the  conscience  of  a  child. 


UNIVERSITY 


WEALTH. 


AS  soon  as  a  stranger  is  introduced  into  any  company,  one 
of  the  first  questions  which  all  wish  to  have  answered, 
is,  How  does  that  man  get  his  living?  And  with  reason.  He 
is  no  whole  man  until  he  knows  how  to  earn  a  blameless  liveli 
hood.  Society  is  barbarous,  until  every  industrious  man  can 
get  his  living  without  dishonest  customs. 

Every  man  is  a  consumer,  and  ought  to  be  a  producer. 
He  fails  to  make  his  place  good  in  the  world,  unless  he  not 
only  pays  his  debt,  but  also  adds  something  to  the  common 
wealth.  Nor  can  he  do  justice  to  his  genius,  without  making 
some  larger  demand  on  the  world  than  a  bare  subsistence.  He 
is  by  constitution  expensive,  and  needs  to  be  rich. 

Wealth  has  its  source  in  applications  of  the  mind  to  nature, 
from  the  rudest  strokes  of  spade  and  axe,  up  to  the  last 
secrets  of  art.  Intimate  ties  subsist  between  thought  and 
all  production  ;  because  a  better  order  is  equivalent  to  vust 
amounts  of  brute  labor.  The  forces  and  the  resistances  are 
Nature's,  but  the  mind  acts  in  bringing  things  from  where 
they  abound  to  where  they  are  wanted ;  in  wise  combining ; 
in  directing  the  practice  of  the  useful  arts,  :ui<l  in  the  creation 
of  finer  values,  by  fine  art,  by  eloquence,  by  song  or  the  re 
productions  of  memory.  Wealth  is  in  applications  of  mind 
to  nature  ;  and  the  art  of  getting  rich  consists  not  in  indus 
try,  much  less  in  saving,  but  in  a  better  order,  in  timeliness, 
in  being  at  the  right  spot.  One  man  has  stronger  anus, 
or  longer  legs  ;  another  sees  by  the  course  of  streams,  and 
growth  of  markets,  where  land  will  be  wanted,  makes  a  clear 
ing  to  the  river,  goes  to  sleep,  and  wakes  up  rich.  Steam 
is  no  stronger  now,  than  it  was  a  hundred  years  airo  ;  but 
is  put  to  letter  use.  A  clever  fellow  was  acquainted  with 
the  expansive  force  of  steam;  he  also  saw  the  wealth  of 

VOL.    II.  16 


3G2  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

wheat  and  grass  rotting  in  Michigan.  Then  he  cunningly 
screws  on  the  steam-pipe  to  the  wheat-crop.  Puff  now,  0 
Steam  !  The  steam  puffs  and  expands  as  before,  but  this 
time  it  is  dragging  all  Michigan  at  its  back  to  hungry  New 
York  and  hungry  England.  Coal  lay  in  ledges  under  the 
ground  since  the  Flood,  until  a  laborer  with  pick  and  windlass 
brings  it  to  the  surface.  We  may  well  call  it  black  diamonds. 
Every  basket  is  power  and  civilization.  For  coal  is  a  portable 
climate.  It  carries  the  heat  of  the  tropics  to  Labrador  and 
the  polar  circle ;  and  it  is  the  means  of  transporting  itself 
whithersoever  it  is  wanted.  Watt  and  Stephenson  whispered 
in  the  ear  of  mankind  their  secret,  that  a  half-ounce  of  coal 
will  draw  tivo  tons  a  mile,  and  coal  carries  coal,  by  rail  and  by 
boat,  to  make  Canada  as  warm  as  Calcutta,  and  with  its  com 
fort  brings  its  industrial  power. 

When  the  farmer's  peaches  are  taken  from  under  the  tree, 
and  carried  into  town,  they  have  a  new  look,  and  a  hundred 
fold  value  over  the  fruit  which  grew  on  the  same  bough,  and 
lies  fulsomely  on  the  ground.  The  craft  of  the  merchant  is  this 
bringing  a  thing  from  where  it  abounds,  to  where  it  is  costly. 

Wealth  begins  in  a  tight  roof  that  keeps  the  rain  and  wind 
out ;  in  a  good  pump  that  yields  you  plenty  of  sweet  water  ; 
in  two  suits  of  clothes,  so  to  change  your  dress  when  you  are 
wet  ;  in  dry  sticks  to  burn  ;  in  a  good  double-wick  lamp  ;  and 
three  meals  ;  in  a  horse,  or  a  locomotive,  to  cross  the  land  ; 
in  a  boat  to  cross  the  sea ;  in  tools  to  work  with  ;  in  books  to 
read  ;  and  so,  in  giving,  on  all  sides,  by  tolls  and  auxiliaries, 
the  greatest  possible  extension  to  our  powers,  as  if  it  added  feet, 
and  hands,  and  eyes,  and  blood,  length  to  the  day,  and  knowl 
edge,  and  good-will. 

Wealth  begins  with  these  articles  of  necessity.  And  here 
we  must  recite  the  iron  law  which  Nature  thunders  in  these 
northern  climates.  First,  she  requires  that  each  man  should 
feed  himself.  If,  happily,  his  fathers  have  left  him  no  inher 
itance,  he  must  go  to  work,  and  by  making  his  wants  less,  or 
his  gains  more,  he  must  draw  himself  out  of  that  state  of  pain 
and  insult  in  which  she  forces  the  beggar  to  lie.  She  gives 
him  no  rest  until  this  is  done  ;  she  starves,  taunts,  and  tor 
ments  him,  takes  away  warmth,  laughter,  sleep,  friends,  and 
daylight,  until  he  has  fought  his  way  to  his  own  loaf.  Then, 
less  peremptorily,  but  still  with  sting  enough,  she  urges  him 
to  the  acquisition  of  such  things  as  belong  to  him.  Every 
warehouse  and  shop-window,  every  fruit-tree,  every  thought  of 


WEALTH.  363 

every  hour,  opens  a  new  want  to  him,  which  it  concerns  his 
power  and  dignity  to  ^ratify.  It  is  of  no  use  to  argue  the 
wants  down  :  tin-  philosophers  have  laid  the  greatness  of  man 
m  making  his  wants  few  ;  but  will  a  man  content  himself  with 
a  hut  and  a  handful  of  dried  pease'?  He  is  born  to  be  rich. 
He  is  thoroughly  related  ;  and  is  tempted  out  by  his  appetites 
and  fancies  to  the  conquest  of  this  and  that  piece  of  nature, 
until  he  finds  his  well-being  in  the  use  of  his  planet,  and  of 
more  planets  than  his  own.  Wealth  requires,  besides  the  crust 
of  bread  and  the  roof,  —  the  freedom  of  the  city,  the  freedom 
of  the  earth,  travelling,  machinery,  the  benefits  of  science, 
music,  and  fine  arts,  the  best  culture,  and  the  best  company. 
He  is  the  rich  man  who  can  avail  himself  of  all  men's  faculties. 
He  is  the  richest  man  who  knows  how  to  draw  a  benefit  from 
the  labors  of  the  greatest  number  of  men,  of  men  in  distant 
countries,  and  in  past  times.  The  same  correspondence  that 
is  between  thirst  in  the  stomach,  and  water  in  the  spring,  ex 
ists  between  the  whole  of  man  and  the  whole  of  nature. 
The  elements  offer  their  service  to  him.  The  sea,  washing 
the  equator  and  the  poles,  offers  its  perilous  aid,  and  the 
power  and  empire  that  follow  it,  —  day  by  day  to  his  craft  and 
audacity.  '  Beware  of  me,'  it  says,  '  but  if  you  can  hold  me,  I 
am  the  key  to  all  the  lands.'  Fire  offers,  on  its  side,  an  equal 
power.  Fire,  steam,  lightning,  gravity,  ledges  of  rock,  mines 
of  iron,  lead,  quicksilver,  tin,  and  gold  ;  forests  of  all  woods  ; 
fruits  of  all  climates  ;  animals  of  all  habits  ;  the  powers  of  til 
lage  ;  the  fabrics  of  his  chemic  laboratory  ;  the  webs  of  his 
loom ;  the  masculine  draught  of  his  locomotive,  the  talismans 
of  the  machine-shop  ;  all  grand  and  subtile  things,  minerals, 
gases,  ethers,  passions,  war,  trade,  government,  are  his  natural 
playmates,  and,  according  to  the  excellence  of  the  machinery 
in  each  human  being,  is  his  attraction  for  the  instruments  he 
is  to  employ.  The  world  is  his  tool-chest,  and  he  is  successful, 
or  his  education  is  carried  on  just  so  far,  as  is  the  marriage  of 
his  faculties  with  nature,  or,  the  degree  in  which  he  takes  up 
things  into  himself. 

The  strong  race  is  strong  on  these  terms.  The  Saxons  are 
the  merchants  of  the  world  ;  now,  for  a  thousand  years,  the 
leading  race,  and  by  nothing  ™'"v  than  their  quality  of  per 
sonal  independence,  and,  in  its  special  modification,  pecuniary 
independence.  No  reliance  for  bread  and  games  on  the  gov 
ernment,  no  clanship,  no  patriarchal  style  of  living  by  the 
revenues  of  a  chief,  no  marrying-on,  —  no  system  of  clientship 


364  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

suits  them  ;  but  every  man  must  pay  his  scot.  The  English 
are  prosperous  and  peaceful,  with  their  habit  of  considering 
that  every  man  must  take  care  of  himself,  and  has  himself 
to  thank,  if  he  do  not  maintain  and  improve  his  position  in 
society. 

The  subject  of  economy  mixes  itself  with  morals,  inasmuch  as 
it  is  a  peremptory  point  of  virtue  that  a  man's  independence  is 
secured.  Poverty  demoralizes.  A  man  in  debt  is  so  far  a  slave  ; 
and  Wall  Street  thinks  it  easy  for  a  millionnaire  to  be  a  man 
of  his  word,  a  man  of  honor,  but,  that,  in  failing  circumstances, 
no  man  can  be  relied  on  to  keep  his  integrity.  And  when  one 
observes  in  the  hotels  and  palaces  of  our  Atlantic  capitals  the 
habit  of  expense,  the  riot  of  the  senses,  the  absence  of  bonds, 
clanship,  fellow-feeling  of  any  kind,  he  feels,  that,  when  a  man 
or  a  woman  is  driven  to  the  wall,  the  chances  of  integrity  are 
frightfully  diminished,  as  if  virtue  were  coming  to  be  a  luxury 
.  which  few  could  afford,  or,  as  Burke  said,  "  at  a  market  almost 
too  high  for  humanity."  He  may  fix  his  inventory  of  necessi 
ties  and  of  enjoyments  on  what  scale  he  pleases,  but  if  he 
wishes  the  power  and  privilege  of  thought,  the  chalking  out 
his  own  career,  and  having  society  on  his  own  terms,  he  must 
bring  his  wants  within  his  proper  power  to  satisfy. 

The  manly  part  is  to  do  with  might  and  main  what  you  can 
do.  The  world  is  full  of  fops  who  never  did  anything,  and 
who  have  persuaded  beauties  and  men  of  genius  to  wear  their 
fop  livery,  and  these  will  deliver  the  fop  opinion,  that  it  is 
not  respectable  to  be  seen  earning  a  living ;  that  it  is  much 
more  respectable  to  spend  without  earning ;  and  this  doctrine 
of  the  snake  will  come  also  from  the  elect  sons  of  light ;  for 
wise  men  are  not  wise  at  all  hours,  and  will  speak  five  times 
from  their  taste  or  their  humor,  to  once  from  their  reason. 
The  brave  workman,  who  might  betray  his  feeling  of  it  in 
his  manners,  if  he  do  not  succumb  in  his  practice,  must  re 
place  the  grace  or  elegance  forfeited,  by  the  merit  of  the  work 
done.  No  matter  whether  he  make  shoes,  or  statues,  or 
laws.  It  is  the  privilege  of  any  human  work  which  is  well 
done  to  invest  the  doer  with  a  certain  haughtiness.  He  can 
well  afford  not  to  conciliate,  whose  faithful  work  will  answer 
for  him.  The  mechanic  at  his  bench  carries  a  quiet  heart  and 
assured  manners,  and  deals  on  even  terms  with  men  of  any 
condition.  The  artist  has  made  his  picture  so  true,  that  it 
disconcerts  criticism.  The  statue  is  so  beautiful  that  it  con 
tracts  no  stain  from  the  market,  but  makes  the  market  a 


WKALTII.  365 

silent  gallery  for  itself.  The  case  of  the  young  lawyer  was 
pitiful  t<>  disgust.— -a  paltry  matter  of  buttons  or  twee/.er- 
easesj  Imt  thr  determined  youth  sa\v  in  it  an  aperture  to 
insert  his  dangerous  wedges,  made  the  insignificance  of  tin' 
thing  forgotten,  and  gave  fame  by  his  BOOM  and  energy  to  the 
name  and  affairs  of  the  Tittletou  snuil'-box  factory. 
•^Societj  in  large  towns  is  babyish,  and  wealth  is  made  a  toy. 
The  life  of  pleasure  is  so  ostentatious,  that  a  shallow  observer 
must  believe  that  this  is  the  agreed  best  use  of  wealth,  and, 
whatever  is  pretended,  it  ends  in  cosseting.  But,  if  this 
were  the  main  use  of  surplus  capital,  it  would  bring  us  to 
barricades,  burned  towns,  and  tomahawks,  presently.  Men  of 
sense  esteem  wealth  to  be  the  assimilation  of  nature  to  them 
selves,  the  converting  of  the  sap  and  juices  of  the  planet  to  the 
incarnation  and  nutriment  of  their  design.  Power  is  what 
they  want, — not  candy,  —  power  to  execute  their  design, 
power  to  give  legs  and  feet,  form  and  actuality,  to  their 
thought,  which,  to  a  clear-sighted  man,  appears  the  end  for 
whi:-h  the  Tniverse  exists,  and  all  its  resources  might  be  well 
applied.  Columbus  thinks  that  the  sphere  is  a  problem  for  prac- 
tieal  navigation,  as  well  as  for  closet  geometry,  and  looks  on 
all  kings  and  peoples  as  cowardly  landsmen,  until  they  dare  fit 
him  out.  1'Yw  men  on  the  planet  have  more  truly  belonged 
to  it.  But  he  was  forced  to  leave  much  of  his  map  blank. 
His  successors  inherited  his  map,  and  inherited  his  fury  tu 
complete  it. 

So  the  men  of  the  mine,  telegraph,  mill,  map,  and  survey. 
—  the  monomaniacs,  who  talk  up  their  project  in  marts,  and 
offices,  and  entreat  men  to  subscribe  :  —  how  did  our  factories 
get  built?  how  did  North  America  get  netted  with  iron  rails, 
except  by  the  importunity  of  these  orators,  who  dragged  all 
the  prudent  men  in  ?  Is  party  the  madness  of  many  for  the 
gain  of  a  few  ?  This  .<j,r.-nl<it,'r,>  genius  is  the  madness  of  few 
for  the  gain  of  the  world.  The  projectors  are  sacrificed,  but 
the  public  is  the  gainer.  Each  of  these  idealists,  working  af 
ter  his  thought,  would  make  it  tyrannical,  if  he  could.  He  is 
met  and  antaironi/.ed  by  other  speculators,  as  hot  as  he.  The 
equilibrium  is  preserved  by  these  counteractions,  as  one  tree 
keeps  down  another  in  the  forest,  that  it  may  not  absorb  all 
the  sap  in  the  ground.  And  the  supply  in  nature  of  railroad 
presidents,  copper-miners,  grand-jiinet  ioners.  smoke  burners, 
nre-annihilators,  «kc.,  is  limited  by  the  same  law  which  keeps 
the  proportion  in  the  supply  of  carbon,  of  alum,  and  of  hydro 
gen. 


366  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

To  be  rich  is  to  have  a  ticket  of  admission  to  the  master- 
works  and  chief  men  of  each  race.  It  is  to  have  the  sea,  by 
voyaging ;  to  visit  the  mountains,  Niagara,  the  Nile,  the  des 
ert,  Home,  Paris,  Constantinople ;  to  see  galleries,  libraries, 
arsenals,  manufactories.  The  reader  of  Humboldt's  "  Cosmos  " 
follows  the  marches  of  a  man  whose  eyes,  ears,  and  mind  are 
armed  by  all  the  science,  arts,  and  implements  which  man 
kind  have  anywhere  accumulated,  and  who  is  using  these  to 
add  to  the  stock.  So  is  it  with  Denon,  Beckford,  Belzoni, 
Wilkinson,  Layard,  Kane,  Lepsius,  and  Livingston.  "  The 
rich  man,"  says  Saadi,  "  is  everywhere  expected  and  at  home." 
The  rich  take  up  something  more  of  the  world  into  man's  life. 
TEey  include  the  country  as  well  as  the  town,  the  ocean-side, 
the  White  Hills,  the  Far  West,  and  the  old  European  home 
steads  of  man,  in  their  notion  of  available  material.  The 
world  is  his  who  has  money  to  go  over  it.  He  arrives  at  the 
sea-shore,  and  a  sumptuous  ship  has  floored  and  carpeted  for 
him  the  stormy  Atlantic,  and  made  it  a  luxurious  hotel,  amid 
the  horrors  of  tempests.  The  Persians  say,  "  'T  is  the  same 
to  him  who  wears  a  shoe,  as  if  the  whole  earth  were  covered 
with  leather." 

Kings  are  said  to  have  long  arms,  but  every  man  should 
have  long  arms,  and  should  pluck  his  living,  his  instruments, 
his  power,  and  his  knowing,  from  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars.  Is 
not  then  the  demand  to  be  rich  legitimate  1  Yet,  I  have 
never  seen  a  rich  man.  I  have  never  seen  a  man  as  rich  as 
all  men  ought  to  be,  or,  with  an  adequate  command  of  nature. 
The  pulpit  and  the  press  have  many  commonplaces  denouncing 
the  thirst  for  wealth  ;  but  if  men  should  take  these  moralists 
at  their  word,  and  leave  off  aiming  to  be  rich,  the  moralists 
would  rush  to  rekindle  at  all  hazards  this  love  of  power  in  the 
people,  lest  civilization  should  be  undone.  Men  are  urged  by 
their  ideas  to  acquire  the  command  over  nature.  Ages  derive 
a  culture  from  the  wealth  of  Roman  Caesars,  Leo  Tenths,  mag 
nificent  Kings  of  France,  Grand  Dukes  of  Tuscany,  Dukes  of 
Devonshire,  Townleys,  Vernons,  and  Peels,  in  England }  or 
whatever  great  proprietors.  It  is  the  interest  of  all  men,  that 
there  should  be  Vaticans  and  Louvres  full  of  noble  works  of 
art ;  British  museums,  and  French  Gardens  of  Plants,  Phila 
delphia  Academies  of  Natural  History,  Bodleian,  Ambrosian, 
Royal,  Congressional  Libraries.  It  is  the  interest  of  all  that 
there  should  be  Exploring  PJxpeditions ;  Captain  Cooks  to 
voyage  round  the  world,  Rosses,  Franklins,  Richardsons,  and 


WEALTH.  367 

Kanes,  to  find  the  magnetic  and  the  geographic  poles.  We 
are  all  richer  for  tin-  measurement  of  a  degree  of  latitude  on 
the  earth's  surface.  Our  navigation  is  safer  for  the  chart. 
How  intimately  our  knowledge  «»f  the  system  of  the  Universe 
rests  on  that !  —  and  a  true  economy  in  a  state  or  an  individ 
ual  will  forget  its  frugality  in  behalf  of  claims  like  these. 

Whilst  it  is  each  man's  interest,  that,  not  only  ease  and 
convenience  of  living,  but  also  wealth  or  surplus  product 
should  exist  somewhere,  it  need  not  be  in  his  hands.  Often 
it  is  very  undesirable  to  him.  Goethe  said  well,  "  Nobody 
should  be  rich  but  those  who  understand  it."  Some  men 
are  born  to  own,  and  can  animate  all  their  possessions.  Others 
cannot :  their  owning  is  not  graceful ;  seems  to  be  a  compro 
mise  of  their  character  :  they  seem  to  steal  their  own  divi 
dends.  They  should  own  who  can  administer ;  not  they  who 
hoard  and  conceal  ;  not  they  who,  the  greater  proprietors  they 
are,  are  only  the  greater  beggars,  but  they  whose  work  carves 
out  work  for  more,  opens  a  path  for  all.  For  he  is  the  rich 
man  in  whom  the  people  are  rich,  and  he  is  the  poor  man  in 
whom  the  people  are  poor  ;  and  how  to  give  all  access  to  the 
masterpieces  of  ait  and  nature,  is  the  problem  of  civilization. 
The  socialism  of  our  day  has  done  good  service  in  setting  men 
on  thinking  how  certain  civilizing  hem-tits,  now  only  enjoyed 
by  the  opulent,  can  be  enjoyed  by  all.  For  example,  the  pro 
viding  to  each  man  the  means  and  apparatus  of  science,  and 
of  the  arts.  There  are  many  articles  good  for  occasional  use, 
which  few  men  are  able  to  own.  Every  man  wishes  to  see  the 
ring  of  Saturn,  the  satellites  and  belts  of  Jupiter  ami  Mars  ; 
the  mountains  and  craters  in  the  moon  :  yet  how  few  can  buy 
a  telescope  !  and  of  those,  scarcely  one  would  like  the  trouble 
of  keeping.it  in  order,  and  exhibiting  it.  So  of  electrical  and 
chemical  apparatus,  and  many  the  like  things.  Every  man 
may  have  occasion  to  consult  books  which  he  does  not  care  to 
possess,  such  as  cyclopaedias,  dictionaries,  tables,  charts,  maps, 
and  public  documents  :  pictures  also  of  birds,  beasts,  fishes-, 
shells,  trees,  flowers,  whose  names  he  desires  to  know. 

There  is  a  refining  influence  from  the  arts  of  Design  on  a 
prepared  mind,  which  is  as  positive  as  that  of  music,  and  not 
to  l>e  supplied  from  any  other  source.  But  pictures,  engrav 
ings,  statues,  and  casts,  beside  their  first  cost,  entail  expenses, 
as  of  galleries  and  keepers  for  the  exhibition  :  and  the  use 
which  any  man  can  make  of  them  is  rare,  and  their  value, 
too,  is  much  enhanced  by  the  numbers  of  men  who  can  share 


368  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

their  enjoyment.  In  the  Greek  cities,  it  was  reckoned  pro 
fane,  that  any  person  should  pretend  a  property  in  a  work  of 
art,  which  belonged  to  all  who  could  behold  it.  I  think  some 
times,  —  could  I  only  have  music  on  my  own  terms ;  —  could 
I  live  in  a  great  city,  and  know  where  I  could  go  whenever  I 
wished  the  ablution  and  inundation  of  musical  waves,  —  that 
were  a  bath  and  a  medicine. 

If  properties  of  this  kind  were  owned  by  states,  towns,  and 
lyceums,  they  would  draw  the  bonds  of  neighborhood  closer. 
A  town  would  exist  to  an  intellectual  purpose.  In  Europe, 
where  the  feudal  forms  secure  the  permanence  of  wealth  in 
certain  families,  those  families  buy  and  preserve  these  things, 
and  lay  them  open  to  the  public.  But  in  America,  where 
democratic  institutions  divide  every  estate  into  small  portions, 
after  a  few  years,  the  public  should  step  into  the  place  of 
these  proprietors,  and  provide  this  culture  and  inspiration  for 
the  citizen. 

Man  was  born  to  be  rich,  or,  inevitably  grows  rich  by  the 
use  of  his  faculties ;  by  the  union  of  thought  with  nature. 
Property  is  an  intellectual  production.  The  game  requires 
coolness,  right  reasoning,  promptness,  and  patience  in  the 
players.  Cultivated  labor  drives  out  brute  labor.  An  infi 
nite  number  of  shrewd  men,  in  infinite  years,  have  arrived  at 
certain  best  and  shortest  ways  of  doing,  and  this  accumulated 
skill  in  arts,  cultures,  harvestings,  curings,  manufactures, 
navigations,  exchanges,  constitutes  the  worth  of  our  world 
to-day. 

Commerce  is  a  game  of  skill,  which  every  man  cannot  play, 
which  few  men  can  play  well.  The  right  merchant  is  one 
who  has  the  just  average  of  faculties  we  call  common  sense ;  a 
man  of  a  strong  affinity  for  facts,  who  makes  up  his  decision 
on  what  he  has  seen.  He  is  thoroughly  persuaded  of  the 
truths  of  arithmetic.  There  is  always  a  reason,  in  the  man, 
for  his  good  or  bad  fortune,  and  so,  in  making  money.  Men 
talk  as  if  there  were  some  magic  about  this,  and  believe  in 
magic,  in  all  parts  of  life.  He  knows,  that  all  goes  on  the  old 
road,  pound  for  pound,  cent  for  cent,  —  for  every  effect  a  per 
fect  cause,  —  and  that  good  luck  is  another  name  for  tenacity 
of  purpose.  He  insures  himself  in  every  transaction,  and 
likes  small  and  sure  gains.  Probity  and  closeness  to  the 
facts  are  the  basis,  but  the  masters  of  the  art  add  a  certain 
long  arithmetic.  The  problem  is,  to  combine  many  and 
remote  operations,  wkh  the  accuracy  and  adherence  to  th« 


\VI:ALTH.  369 

facts,  which  is  easy  in  near  and  small  transactions;  so  to 
arrive  at  uriurantic  result*,  without  any  compromise  of  safety. 
Napoleon  ^'='s  1"11(1  of  telling  tin-  story  of  the  Marseilles  bunk 
er,  who  said  to  his  visitor,  surprised  at  the  contrast  between 
the  splendor  of  the  banker's  chateau  and  hospitality,  and  the 
meanness  of  the  counting  room  in  which  lie  had  seen  him: 
11  Yoimi:  man,  vou  are  too  young  to  understand  how  masses 
are  formed,  —  the  true  and  only  power,  —  whether  composed 
of  monev,  water,  or  men,  it  is  all  alike, — amass  is  an  im 
mense  centre  of  motion,  but  it.  must  be  begun,  it  must  be 
kept  up":  —  and  he  mi-lit  have  added,  that  the  way  in  which 
it  must  be  begun  and  kept  up,  is,  by  obedience  to  the  law  of 
particles. 

Success  consists  in  close  appliance  to  the  laws  of  the  world, 
and,  since  those  4aws  are  intellectual  and  moral,  an  intellec 
tual  and  moral  obedience.  Political  Kconomy  is  as  -ood  a  book 
wherein  to  read  the  life  of  man,  and  the  ascendency  of  laws 
over  all  private  and  hostile  influences,  as  any  Bible  which  has 
coj»e  down  to  us. 

Monev  is  representative,  and  follows  the  nature  and  fortunes 
of  the  owner.  The  coin  is  a  delicate  metre  of  civil,  social,  and 
moral  changes.  The  farmer  is  covetous  of  his  dollar,  and  with 
:i.  It  is  no  waif  to  him.  He  knows  how  many  strokes 
of  labor  it  represents.  His  bones  ache  with  the  day's  work 
that  earned  it.  He  knows  how  much  land  it  represents  ;  — 
how  much  rain,  frost,  and  sunshine.  He  knows  that,  in  the 
dollar,  he  Lrives  you  so  much  discretion  and  patience,  so  much 
hoeing  and  threshing.  Try  to  lift  his  dollar  :  you  must  lift 
all  that  weight.  In  the  city,  where  money  follows  the  skit 
of  a  pen,  or  a  lucky  rise  in  exchange,  it  comes  to  be  looked  on 
ns  light.  I  wish  the  farmer  held  it  dearer,  and  would  spend  it 
only  for  real  bread  ;  force  for  force. 

The  farmer's  dollar  is  heavy,  and  the  clerk's  is  light  and 
nimble  ;  leaps  out  of  his  pocket  :  jumps  on  to  cards  and  faro- 
tables  :  but  still  more  curious  is  its  susceptibilit  v  to  metaphys 
ical  changes.  It  is  the  finest  barometer  of  social  storms,  and 
announces  revolutions. 

Kvery  step  of  civil  advancement  makes  every  man's  dollar 
worth  more.  In  California,  the  country  where  it  grew, 
what  would  it  buy  }  A  few  years  since,  it  would  buy  a  shanty, 
dysentery,  hunger,  had  company,  and  crime.  There  arc  wide 
countries,  like  Siberia,  where  it  would  buy  little  else  today, 
than  some  petty  mitigation  of  suffering.  In  Rome,  it  will  buy 
'l6»  x 


370  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

beauty  and  magnificence.  Forty  years  ago,  a  dollar  would  not 
buy  much  in  Boston.  Now  it  will  buy  a  great  deal  more  in 
our  old  town,  thanks  to  railroads,  telegraphs,  steamers,  and 
the  contemporaneous  growth  of  New  York,  and  the  whole 
country.  Yet  there  are  many  goods  appertaining  to  a  capital 
city,  which  are  not  yet  purchasable  here,  no,  not  with  a  moun 
tain  of  dollars.  A  dollar  in  Florida  is  not  worth  a  dollar  in 
Massachusetts.  A  dollar  is  not  value,  but  representative  of 
value,  and,  at  last,  of  moral  values.  A  dollar  is  rated  for  the 
corn  it  will  buy,  or  to  speak  strictly,  not  for  the  corn  or  house- 
room,  but  for  Athenian  corn,  and  Roman  house-room,  —  for 
the  wit,  probity,  and  power,  which  we  eat  bread  and  dwell  in 
houses  to  share  and  exert.  Wealth  is  mental ;  wealth  is  mor 
al.  The  value  of  a  dollar  is,  to  buy  just  things  :  a  dollar  goes 
on  increasing  in  value  with  all  the  genius,  and  all  the  virtue 
of  the  world.  A  dollar  in  a  university  is  worth  more  than  a 
dollar  in  a  jail ;  in  a  temperate,  schooled,  law-abiding  commu 
nity,  than  in  some  sink  of  crime,  where  dice,  knives,  and  ar 
senic  are  in  constant  play. 

The  "  Bank-Note  Detector  "  is  a  useful  publication.     But 
the  current  dollar,  silver  or  paper,  is  itself  the  detector  of  the 
ri"-ht  and  wrong  where  it  circulates.     Is  it  not  instantly  en 
hanced  by  the  increase  of  equity  1     If  a  trader  refuses  to  sell 
his  vote,  or  adheres  to  some  odious  right,  he  makes  so  much 
more  equity  in  Massachusetts  ;  and  every  acre  in  the  State  is 
more  worth,  in  the   hour  of  his  action.     If  you  take  out  of 
State  Street  the  ten  honestest  merchants,  and  put  in  ten  roguish 
persons,  controlling  the  same  amount  of  capital,  - 
of  insurance    will  indicate    it ;    the  soundness  of  banks   will 
show  it  •  the  highways  will  be  less  secure  :  the  schools  will : 
the  children  will  bring  home  their  little  dose  of  the  poison  :  the 
iudo-e  will  sit  less  firmly  on  the  bench,  and  his  decisions  be  less 
uprio-ht ;  he  has  lost  so  much  support  and  constraint,  —  which 
all  need ;  and  the  pulpit  will  betray  it,  in  a  laxer  rule  of  life. 
An  apple-tree,  if  you  take  out  every  day  for  a  number  of  days, 
a  load  of  loam,  and  put  in  a  load  of  sand  about  its  roots, 
will  find  it  out.     An  apple-tree  is  a  stupid  kind  of  creature, 
but  if  this  treatment  be  pursued  for  a  short  time,  1  think  it 
would  begin  to 'mistrust  something.     And  if  you  should  take 
out  of  the  powerful  class  engaged  in  trade  a  hundred  goc 
men,  and  put  in  a  hundred  bad,  or,  what  is  just  the  same 
thing,  introduce  a  demoralizing  institution,  would  not  the  dol 
lar,  which  is  not  much  stupider  than  an  apple-tree,  presently 


WEALTH.  371 

find  it  out  ?  The  value  of  a  dollar  is  social,  as  it  is  created  by 
society.  Kvcry  man  who  removes  into  this  city,  with  any  pur 
chasable  talent  or  skill  in  him,  gives  to  every  man's  labor  in 
the  city  a  new  worth.  If  a  talent  is  anywhere  born  into  the 
world,  the  community  of  nations  is  eoriobed;  and,  much  more, 
with  a  new  degree  of  probity.  The  expense  of  crime,  one  of 
the  principal  charges  of  every  nation,  is  so  far  stopped.  Ill 
Europe,  crime  is  observed  to  increase  or  abate  with  the  price 
of  bread.  If  the  Rothschilds  at  Paris  do  not  accept  bills,  the 
people  at  Manchester,  at  Paisley,  at  Birmingham,  are  ibived 
into  the  highwav,  and  landlords  are  shot  down  in  Ireland. 
The  police  records  attest  it.  The  vibrations  are  presently  felt 
in  New  York,  New  Orleans,  and  Chicago.  Not  much  other^ 
wise,  the  economical  power  touches  the  masses  through  the 
political  lords.  Rothschild  refuses  the  Russian  loan,  and  there 
is  peace,  and  the  harvests  are  saved.  He  takes  it,  and  there 
is  war,  and  an  agitation  through  a  large  portion  of  mankind, 
with  every  hideous  result,  ending  in  revolution,  and  a  new 
order. 

Wealth  brings  with  it  its  own  checks  and  balances.  The 
basis  of  political  economy  is  non-interference.  The  only  safe 
rule  is  found  in  the  self-adjusting  meter  of  demand  and  supply. 
Do  not  legislate.  Meddle,  and  you  snap  the  sinews  with  your 
sumptuary  laws.  Give  no  bounties  :  make  equal  laws  :  secure 
life  and  property,  and  you  need  not  give  alms.  Open  the  doors 
of  opportunity  to  talent  and  virtue,  and  they  will  do  them 
selves  justice,  and  property  will  not  be  in  bail  hands.  'In  a 
free  and  just  commonwealth,  property  rushes  from  the  idle 
and  imbecile,  to  the  industrious,  brave,  and  pcrscverinir. 

The  laws  of  nature  play  through  trade,  as  a  toy-battery  ex 
hibits  the  effects  of  electricity.  The  level  of  the  sea  is  not 
more  surely  kept,  than  is  the  equilibrium  of  value  in  society, 
by  the  demand  and  supply  ;  and  artifice  or  legislation  punishes 
itself  by  reactions,  gluts,  and  bankruptcies.  The  sublime  laws 
play  indifferently  through  atoms  and  galaxies.  Whoever 
knows  what  happens  in  the  getting  and  spending  of  a  loaf  of 
bread  and  a  pint  of  beer ;  that  no  wishing  will  change  the 
rigorous  limits  of  pints  and  penny  loaves  ;  that,  for  all  that  is 
consumed,  so  much  less  remains  in  the  basket  and  pot;  but 
what  is  gone  out  of  these  is  not  wasted,  but  well  spent,  if  it 
nourish  his  body,  and  enable  him  to  finish  his  task  ;  —  knows 
all  of  political  economy  that  the  budgets  «.f  empires  can  teach 
him.  The  interest  of  petty  economy  is  this  symbolization  of 


372  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

the  great  economy  ;  the  way  in  which  a  house,  and  a  private 
man's  methods,  tally  with  the  solar  system,  and  the  laws  of 
give  and  take,  throughout  nature ;  and  however  wary  we  are 
of  the  falsehoods  and  petty  tricks  which  we  suicidally  play  off 
on  each  other,  every  man  has  a  certain  satisfaction,  whenever 
his  dealing  touches  on  the  inevitable  facts ;  when  he  sees  that 
things  themselves  dictate  the  price,  as  they  always  tend  to  do, 
and,  in  large  manufactures,  are  seen  to  do.  Your  paper  is  not 
fine  or  coarse  enough,  —  is  too  heavy,  or  too  thin.  The  manu 
facturer  says,  he  will  furnish  you  with  just  that  thickness  or 
thinness  you  want ;  the  pattern  is  quite  indifferent  to  him  ; 
here  is  his  schedule ;  —  any  variety  of  paper,  as  cheaper  or 
dearer,  with  the  prices  annexed.  A  pound  of  paper  costs  so 
much,  and  you  may  have  it  made  up  in  any  pattern  you  fancy. 

There  is  in  all  our  dealings  a  self-regulation  that  supersedes 
chaffering.  You  will  rent  a  house,  but  must  have  it  cheap. 
The  owner  can  reduce  the  rent,  but  so  he  incapacitates  himself 
from  making  proper  repairs,  and  the  tenant  gets  not  the  house 
he  would  have,  but  a  worse  one  ;  besides,  that  a  relation  a  little 
injurious  is  established  between  landlord  and  tenant.  You 
dismiss  your  laborer,  saying,  '  Patrick,  I  shall  send  for  you  as 
soon  as  I  cannot  do  without  you.'  Patrick  goes  off  contented, 
for  he  knows  that  the  weeds  will  grow  with  the  potatoes,  the 
vines  must  be  planted,  next  week,  and,  however  unwilling  you 
may  be,  the  cantelopes,  crook-necks,  and  cucumbers  will  send 
for  him.  Who  but  must  wish  that  all  labor  and  value  should 
stand  on  the  same  simple  and  surly  market  1  If  it  is  the  best 
of  its  kind,  it  will.  We  must  have  joiner,  locksmith,  planter, 
priest,  poet,  doctor,  cook,  weaver,  ostler ;  each  in  turn,  through 
the  year. 

If  a  St.  Michael's  pear  sells  for  a  shilling,  it  costs  a  shilling 
to  raise  it.  If,  in  Boston,  the  best  securities  offer  twelve  per 
cent  for  money,  they  have  just  six  per  cent  of  insecurity. 
You  may  not  see  that  the  fine  pear  costs  you  a  shilling,  but  it 
costs  the  community  so  much.  The  shilling  represents  the 
number  of  enemies  the  pear  has,  and  the  amount  of  risk  in 
ripening  it.  The  price  of  coal  shows  the  narrowness  of  the 
coal-field,  and  a  compulsory  confinement  of  the  miners  to  a 
certain  district.  All  salaries  are  reckoned  on  contingent,  as 
well  as  on  actual  services.  "  If  the  wind  were  always  south 
west  by  west,"  said  the  skipper,  "  women  might  take  ships  to 
sea."  One  might  say,  that  all  things  are  of  one  price  ;  that 
nothing  is  cheap  or  dear ;  and  that  the  apparent  disparities 


373 

that  strike  us  arc  only  a  shopman's  trick  of  concealing  the 
damage  in  your  bargain.  A  youth  coming  into  the  city  from 
his  native  New  Hampshire  farm,  with  its  hard  t'aiv  still  fresh 
in  his  remembrance,  hoards  at  a  first-class  hotel,  and  believes 
lie  must  somehow  have  outwitted  Dr.  Franklin  and  Malt  1ms, 
for  luxuries  arc  cheap.  But  he  pays  for  the  one  convenience 
of  a  better  dinner,  by  the  loss  of  some  of  the  richest  social 
and  educational  advantages.  He  has  lost  what  guards  !  what 
incentives!  He  will  perhaps  find  by  and  by,  that  he  left  the 
Muses  at  the  door  of  the  hotel,  and  found  the  Furies  inside. 
Money  often  costs  too  much,  and  power  and  pleasure  are  not 
cheap.  The  ancient  poet  said,  "  The  gods  sell  all  things  at  a 
fair  price." 

There  is  an  example  of  the  compensations  in  the  commercial 
history  of  this  country.  "NYhi'ii  the  European  wars  threw  the 
earn  ing-trade  of  the  world,  from  1800  to  1812,  into  American 
bottoms,  a  seizure  was  now  and  then  made  of  an  American 
ship.  Of  course,  the  loss  was  serious  to  the  owner,  but  the 
country  was  indemnified  ;  for  we  charged  threepence  a  pound 
for  carrying  cotton,  sixpence  for  tobacco,  and  so  on  ;  which 
paid  for  the  risk  and  loss,  and  brought  into  the  country  an  im- 
mense  prosperity,  early  marriages,  private  wealth,  the  building 
of  cities,  and  of  states  ;  and,  after  the  war  was  over,  we  re 
ceived  compensation  over  and  above,  by  treaty,  for  all  the 
seizures.  Well,  the  Americans  grew  rich  and  great.  But  the 
pay-day  comes  round.  Britain,  France,  and  Germany,  which 
our  extraordinary  profits  had  impoverished,  send  out,  attracted 
by  the  fame  of  our  advantages,  first  their  thousands,  then  their 
millions,  of  poor  people,  to  share  the  crop.  At  first,  we  em 
ploy  them,  and  increase  our  prosperity  ;  but,  in  the  artificial 
system  of  society  and  of  protected  labor,  which  we  also  have 
adopted  and  enlarged,  there  come  presently  checks  and  stop 
pages.  Then  we  refuse  to  employ  these  poor  men.  But  they 
will  not  so  be  answered.  They  go  into  the  poor  rates,  and, 
though  we  refuse  wages,  we  must  now  pay  the  same  amount  in 
the  form  of  taxes.  Again,  it  turns  out  that  the  largest  pro 
portion  of  crimes  are  committed  by  foreigners.  The  cost  of 
the  crime,  and  the  expense  of  courts,  and  of  prisons,  we  must 
bear,  and  the  standing  army  of  preventive  police  we  must  pay. 
The  cost  of  education  of  the  posterity  of  this  great  colony,  I 
will  not  compute.  But  the  gross  amount  of  these  costs  will 
begin  to  pay  back  what  we  thought  was  a  net  gain  from  our 
Transatlantic  customers  of  1800.  It  is  vain  to  refuse  this  pay- 


374  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

ment.  We  cannot  get  rid  of  these  people,  and  we  cannot  get 
rid  of  their  will  to  be  supported.  That  has  become  an  inevita 
ble  element  in  our  politics ;  and,  for  their  votes,  each  of  the 
dominant  parties  courts  and  assists  them  to  get  it  executed. 
Moreover,  we  have  to  pay,  not  what  would  have  contented  them 
at  home,  but  what  they  have  learned  to  think  necessary  here  ; 
so  that  opinion,  fancy,  and  all  manner  of  moral  considerations 
complicate  the  problem. 

These  were  the  prevalent  opinions  in  1850.  Yet  this  result 
is  no  more  final  than  the  last.  We  have  hardly  time  to  study 
this  adjustment  and  deplore  these  disadvantages,  before  the 
scale  rights  itself  again,  this  time  disclosing  new  and  immense 
benefits.  For  this  countless  host  of  immigrants  are  now  seen 
to  be  adding  by  their  labor  to  the  wealth  of  the  country. 
They  plant  the  wilderness  with  wheat  and  corn,  work  the 
mines  for  coal  and  lead  and  copper  and  gold,  build  roads  and 
towns  and  states,  create  a  market  for  the  manufactures  and 
commerce  of  either  sea-coast,  and  swell  by  their  taxes  the 
national  treasury. 

There  are  a  few  measures  of  economy  which  will  bear  to  be 
named  without  disgust ;  for  the  subject  is  tender,  and  we  may 
easily  have  too  much  of  it ;  and  therein  resembles  the  hideous 
animalcules  of  which  our  bodies  are  built  up,  —  which,  offen 
sive  in  the  particular,  yet  compose  valuable  and  effective 
masses.  Our  nature  and  genius  force  us  to  respect  ends, 
whilst  we  use  means.  We  must  use  the  means,  and  yet,  in 
our  most  accurate  using,  somehow  screen  and  cloak  them,  as 
we  can  only  give'  them  any  beauty,  by  a  reflection  of  the  glory 
of  the  end.  That  is  the  good  head,  which  serves  the  end,  and 
commands  the  means.  The  rabble  are  corrupted  by  their 
means  :  the  means  are  too  strong  for  them,  and  they  desert 
their  end. 

1.  The  first  of  these  measures  is  that  each  man's  expense 
must  proceed  from  his  character.  As  long  as  your  genius 
buys,  the  investment  is  safe,  though  you  spend  like  a  monarch. 
Nature  arms  each  man  with  some  faculty  which  enables  him 
to  do  easily  some  feat  impossible  to  any  other,  and  thus  makes 
him  necessary  to  society.  This  native  determination  guides 
his  labor  and  his  spending.  He  wants  an  equipment  of 
means  and  tools  proper  to  his  talent.  And  to  save  on  this 
point,  were  to  neutralize  the  special  strength  and  helpfulness 
of  each  mind.  Do  your  work,  respecting  the  excellence  of  the 


WEALTH.  375 

work,  and  not  its  acceptableness.  This  is  so  much  economy, 
that,  rightly  read,  it  is  the  sum  of  economy.  Profligacy  con- 
si -ts  uot  in  spending  years  of  time  or  chests  of  money,  —  but 
in  spending  them  off  the  line  of  your  career.  The  crime 
which  bankrupts  men  and  states,  is,  job-work  ;  —  declining 
from  your  main  design,  to  serve  a  turn  here  or  there.  Noth 
ing  i«  beneath  you,  if  it  is  in  the  direction  of  your  life  :  noth 
ing  is  great  or  desirable,  if  it  is  oft' from  that.  I  think  we  are 
entitled  here  to  draw  a  straight  line,  and  say,  that  society  can 
never  prosper,  but  must  always  be  bankrupt,  until  every  man 
does  that  which  he  was  created  to  do. 

Spend  for  your  expense,  and  retrench  the  expense  which  is 
not  yours.  Allston,  the  painter,  was  wont  to  say,  that  he 
built  a  plain  house,  and  filled  it  with  plain  furniture,  because 
he  would  hold  out  no  bribe  to  any  to  visit  him,  who  had  not 
similar  tastes  to  his  own.  We  are  sympathetic,  .and,  like  chil 
dren,  want  everything  we  see.  But  it  is  a  large  stride  to  inde 
pendence,  —  when  a  man,  in  the  discovery  of  his  proper  talent, 
has  sunk  the  necessity  for  false  expenses.  As  the  betrothed 
maiden,  by  one  secure  affection,  is  relieved  from  a  system  of 
slaveries,  —  the  daily  inculcated  necessity  of  pleasing  all,  —  so 
the  man  who  has  found  what  he  can  do,  can  spend  on  that, 
and  leave  all  other  spending.  Montaigne  said  :  "  When  he  was 
a  younger  brother,  he  went  brave  in  dress  and  equipage,  but 
afterward  his  chateau  and  farms  might  answer  for  him."  Let 
a  man  who  belongs  to  the  class  of  nobles,  those,  namely,  who 
have  found  out  that  they  can  do  something,  relieve  himself 
of  all  vague  squandering  on  objects  not  his.  Let  the  realist 
not  mind  appearances.  Let  him  delegate  to  others  the  costly 
courtesies  and  decorations  of  social  life.  The  virtues  are 
economists,  but  some  of  the  vices  are  also.  Thus,  next  to 
humility,  I  have  noticed  that  pride  is  a  pretty  good  husband. 
A  good  pride  is,  as  I  reckon  it,  worth  from  five  hundred  to  fif 
teen  hundred  a  year.  Pride  is  handsome,  economical  :  prido 
eradicates  so  many  vices,  letting  none  subsist  but  itself,  that 
it  seems  as  if  it  were  a  great  gain  to  exchange  vanity  for 
pride.  Pride  can  go  without  domestics,  without  fine  clothes, 
can  live  in  a  house  with  two  rooms,  can  eat  potato,  purslain, 
beans,  lyed  corn,  can  work  on  the  soil,  can  travel  afoot,  can 
talk  with  poor  men,  or  sit  silent  well-contented  in  fine  saloons. 
But  vanity  costs  money,  labor,  horses,  men,  women,  health, 
and  peace,  and  is  still  nothing  at  last,  a  long  way  leading 
nowhere.  Only  one  drawback  ;  proud  people  are  intolerably 
selfish,  and  the  vain  are  gentle  and  giving. 


376  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

Art  is  a  jealous  mistress,  and,  if  a  man  have  a  genius  for 
painting,  poetry,  music,  architecture,  or  philosophy,  he  makes 
a  bad  husband,  and  an  ill  provider,  and  should  be  wise  in  sea 
son,  and  not  fetter  himself  with  duties  which  will  embitter  his 
days,  and  spoil  him  for  his  proper  work.  We  had  in  this  re 
gion,  twenty  years  ago,  among  our  educated  men,  a  sort  of 
Arcadian  fanaticism,  a  passionate  desire  to  go  upon  the  land, 
and  unite  farming  to  intellectual  pursuits.  Many  effected 
their  purpose,  and  made  the  experiment,  and  some  became 
downright  ploughmen  ;  but  all  were  cured  of  their  faith  that 
scholarship  and  practical  farming  (I  mean,  with  one's  own 
hands)  could  be  united. 

With  brow  bent,  with  firm  intent,  the  pale  scholar  leaves 
his  desk  to  draw  a  freer  breath,  and  get  a  juster  statement  of 
his  thought,  in  the  garden-walk.  He  stoops  to  pull  up  a  purs- 
lain,  or  a  dock,  that  is  choking  the  young  corn,  and  finds  there 
are  two  :  close  behind  the  last,  is  a  third ;  he  reaches  out  his 
hand  to  a  fourth  ;  behind  that  are  four  thousand  and  one. 
He  is  heated  and  untuned,  and,  by  and  by,  wakes  up  from  his 
idiot  dream  of  chickweed  and  red-root,  to  remember  his  morn 
ing  thought,  and  to  find,  that,  with  his  adamantine  purposes, 
he  has  been  duped  by  a  dandelion.  A  garden  is  like  those 
pernicious  machineries  we  read  of,  every  month,  in  the  news 
papers,  which  catch  a  man's  coat-skirt  or  his  hand,  and  draw 
in  his  arm,  his  leg,  and  his  whole  body  to  irresistible  destruc 
tion.  In  an  evil  hour  he  pulled  down  his  wall,  and  added  a 
field  to  his  homestead.  No  land  is  bad,  but  land  is  worse. 
If  a  man  own  land,  the  land  owns  him.  Now  let  him  leave 
home,  if  he  dare.  Every  tree  and  graft,  every  hill  of  melons, 
row  of  corn,  or  quickset  hedge,  all  he  has  done,  and  all  he 
means  to  do,  stand  in  his  way,  like  duns,  when  he  would  go 
out  of  his  gate.  The  devotion  to  these  vines  and  trees  he 
finds  poisonous.  Long  free  walks,  a  circuit  of  miles,  free  his 
brain,  and  serve  his  body.  Long  marches  are  no  hardship  to 
him.  He  believes  he  composes  easily  on  the  hills.  But  this 
pottering  in  a  few  square  yards  of  garden  is  dispiriting  and 
drivelling.  The  smell  of  the  plants  has  drugged  him,  and 
robbed  him  of  energy.  He  finds  a  catalepsy  in  his  bones. 
He  grows  peevish  and  poor-spirited.  The  genius  of  reading 
and  of  gardening  are  antagonistic,  like  resinous  and  vitreous 
electricity.  One  is  concentrative  in  sparks  and  shocks  :  the 
other  is  diffuse  strength  ;  so  that  each  disqualifies  its  work 
man  for  the  other's  duties. 


WI.ALTH.  377 

An  engraver  whose  hands  must  be  of  an  exquisite  delicacy 
of  stroke  should  not  lay  stone-walls.  Sir  David  lin-wstrr 
gives  rxuct  instructions  for  microscopic  observation:  ''  Lie 
down  on  your  back,  and  hold  the  single  lens  and  object  over 
your  eve,"  iVi\,  Arc.  How  much  more  the  seeker  of  abstract 
truth,  who  needs  periods  of  isolation,  and  rapt  concentration, 
and  almost  a  going  out  of  the  body  to  think  ! 

2.  Spend  after  your  genius,  and  by  system.  Nature  goes  by 
rule,  not  by  sallies  and  saltations.  There  must  be  system  in 
the  economies.  Saving  and  unexpensiveness  will  not  keep 
the  most  pathetic  family  from  ruin,  nor  will  bigger  incomes 
make  free  spending  safe.  The  secret  of  success  lies  never  in 
the  amount  of  money,  but  in  the  relation  of  income  to  outgo  ^ 
as  if,  after  expense  has  been  fixed  at  a  certain  point,  then  new^ 
and  steady  rills  of  income,  though  never  so  small,  being  added, 
wealth  begins.  But  in  ordinary,  as  means  increase,  spending 
increases  faster,  so  that,  large  incomes,  in  England  and  else 
where,  are  found  not  to  help  matters  ;  — the  eating  quality  of 
debt  does  not  relax  its  voracity.  When  the  cholera  is  in  the 
potato,  what  is  the  use  of  planting  larger  crops  ]  In  England, 
the  richest  country  in  the  universe,  I  was  assured  by  shrewd 
observers,  that  great  lords  and  ladies  had  no  more  guineas  to 
give  away  than  other  people  ;  that  liberality  with  money  is  as 
rare,  and  as  immediately  famous  a  virtue  as  it  is  here.  Want 
is  a  growing  giant  whom  the  coat  of  Have  was  never  large 
enough  to  cover.  I  remember  in  Warwickshire,  to  have  been 
shown  a  fair  manor,  still  in  the  same  name  as  in  Shakespeare's 
time.  The  rent-roll,  I  was  told,  is  some  fourteen  thousand 
pounds  a  year  :  but,  when  the  second  son  of  the  late  proprie 
tor  was  born,  the  father  was  perplexed  how  to  provide  for  him. 
The  eldest  son  must  inherit  the  manor  ;  what  to  do  with  this 
supernumerary]  He  was  advised  to  breed  him  for  the  Church, 
and  to  settle  him  in  the  rectorship,  which  was  in  the  gift  of  the 
family  ;  which  was  done.  It  is  a  general  rule  in  that  country, 
that  bigger  incomes  do  not  help  anybody.  It  is  commonly 
observed,  that  a  sudden  wealth,  like  a  prize  drawn  in  a  lottery, 
or  a  large  bequest  to  a  poor  family,  does  not  permanently 
enrich.  They  have  served  no  apprenticeship  to  wealth, 
and,  with  the  rapid  wealth,  come  rapid  claims  :  which  they 
do  not  know  how  to  deny,  and  the  treasure  is  quickly  dis 
sipated. 

A  system  must  be  in  every  economy,  or  the  best  single  ex 
pedients  are  of  no  avail.  A  farm  is  a  good  thing  when  it  be* 


378  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

gins  and  ends  with  itself,  and  does  not  need  a  salary,  or  a 
shop,  to  eke  it  out.  Thus,  the  cattle  are  a  main  link  in  the 
chain-ring.  If  the  non-conformist  or  aesthetic  farmer  leaves 
out  the  cattle,  and  does  not  also  leave  out  the  want  which 
the  cattle  must  supply,  he  must  fill  the  gap  by  begging  or 
stealing.  When  men  now  alive  were  born,  the  farm  yielded 
everything  that  was  consumed  on  it.  The  farm  yielded  no 
money,  and  the  farmer  got  on  without.  If  he  fell  sick,  his 
neighbors  came  in  to  his  aid  :  each  gave  a  day's  work ;  or  a 
half-day ;  or  lent  his  yoke  of  oxen,  or  his  horse,  and  kept  his 
work  even  :  hoed  his  potatoes,  mowed  his  hay,  reaped  his  rye ; 
well  knowing  that  no  man  could  afford  to  hire  labor,  without 
selling  his  land.  In  autumn,  a  farmer  could  sell  an  ox  or  a 
hog,  and  get  a  little  money  to  pay  taxes  withal.  Now,  the 
farmer  buys  almost  all  he  consumes,  —  tin-ware,  cloth,  sugar, 
tea,  coffee,  fish,  coal,  railroad  tickets,  and  newspapers. 

A  master  in  each  art  is  required,  because  the  practice  is 
never  with  still  or  dead  subjects,  but  they  change  in  your 
hands.  You  think  farm  buildings  and^ broad  acres  a  solid  prop 
erty  :  but  its  value  is  flowing  like  water.  It  requires  as  much 
watching  as  if  you  were  decanting  wine  from  a  cask.  The 
farmer  knows  what  to  do  with  it,  stops  every  leak,  turns  all 
the  streamlets  to  one  reservoir,  and  decants  wine  ;  but  a  blun 
derhead  comes  out  of  Cornhill,  tries  his  hand,  and  it  all  leaks 
away.  So  is  it  with  granite  streets,  or  timber  townships,  as 
with  fruit  or  flowers.  Nor  is  any  investment  so  permanent, 
that  it  can  be  allowed  to  remain  without  incessant  watching, 
as  the  history  of  each  attempt  to  lock  up  an  inheritance 
through  two  generations  for  an  unborn  inheritor  may  show. 

When  Mr.  Cockayne  takes  a  cottage  in  the  country,  and  will 
keep  his  cow,  he  thinks  a  cow  is  a  creature  that  is  fed  on  hay, 
and  gives  a  pail  of  milk  twice  a  day.  But  the  cow  that  he 
buys  gives  milk  for  three  months  ;  then  her  bag  dries  up. 
What  to  do  with  a  dry  cow  ?  who  will  buy  her  ?  Perhaps  he 
bought  also  a  yoke  of  oxen  to  do  his  work ;  but  they^get  blown 
and  lame.  What  to  do  with  blown  and  lame  oxen  1  The 
farmer  fats  his  after  the  spring  work  is  done,  and  kills  them  in 
the  fall.  But  how  can  Cockayne,  who  has  no  pastures,  and 
leaves  his  cottage  daily  in  the  cars,  at  business  hours,  be  poth 
ered  with  fatting  and  killing  oxen  1  He  plants  trees  ;  but 
there  must  be  crops,  to  keep  the  trees  in  ploughed  land.  What 
shall  be  the  crops  1  He  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  trees, 
but  will  have  grass.  After  a  year  or  two,  the  grass  must 


WEALTH.  379 

be  turned   up   and  ploughed  :  now  what  crops  1     Credulous 
Cockayne  ! 

3.  Help  comes  in  the  custom  of  the  country,  and  the  rule 
of  /)///» i-'t  ]><»•< ndo.  The  rule  is  not  to  dictate,  nor  to  insist 
on  carrying  out  each  of  your  schemes  by  ignorant  wilfulness, 
but  to  learn  practically  the  secret  spoken  from  all  nature,  that 
things  themflehrea  refuse  to  be  mismanaged,  and  will  show  to 
the  watchful  their  own  law.  Nobody  need  stir  hand  or  foot. 
ThlTcustom  of  the  country  will  do  it  all.  I  know  not  how  to 
build  or  to  plant ;  neither  how  to  buy  wood,  nor  what  to  do 
with  the  house-lot,  the  field,  or  the  wood-lot,  when  bought. 
Never  fear ;  it  is  all  settled  how  it  shall  be,  long  beforehand, 
in  the  custom  of  the  country,  whether  to  sand,  or  whether  to 
clay  it,  when  to  plough,  and  how  to  dress,  whether  to  grass,  or 
to  corn  ;  and  you  cannot  help  or  hinder  it.  Nature  has  her 
own  best  mode  of  doing  each  thing,  and  she  has  somewhere 
told  it  plainly,  if  we  will  keep  our  eyes  and  ears  open.  If  not, 
she  will  not  be  slow  in  undeceiving  us,  when  we  prefer  our  own 
way  to  hers.  How  often  we  must  remember  the  art  of  the 
Mir-von,  which,  in  replacing  the  broken  bone,  contents  itself 
with  releasing  the  parts  from  false  position  ;  they  fly  into  place 
by  the  action  of  the  muscles.  On  this  art  of  nature  all  our 
arts  rely. 

Of  the  two  eminent  engineers  in  the  recent  construction  of 
railways  in  England,  Mr.  Brunei  went  straight  from  terminus 
to  terminus,  through  mountains,  over  streams,  crossing  high- 
wax  -s,  cutting  ducal  estates  in  two,  and  shooting  through  this 
man's  cellar,  and  that  man's  attic  window,  and  so  arriving  at 
his  end,  at  great  pleasure  to  geometers,  but  with  cost  to  his 
company.  Mr.  Stephenson,  on  the  contrary,  believing  that  the 
river  knows  the  way,  followed  his  valley,  as  implicitly  as  our 
\\Y>tcrn  Railroad  follows  the  Westfield  River,  and  turned  out 
to  be  the  safest  and  cheapest  engineer.  We  say  the  cows  laid 
out  Boston.  Well,  there  are  worse  surveyors.  Every  pedes 
trian  in  our  pastures  has  frequent  occasion  to  thank  the  cows 
for  cutting  the  best  path  through  the  thicket,  and  over  the  hills  ; 
and  travellers  and  Indians  know  the  value  of  a  butialo  trail, 
which  is  sure  to  be  the  easiest  possible  pass  through  the  ridge. 

When    a  citizen,  fresh   from  Dock  Square,  or  Milk  Street, 
comes  out  and  buys  land  in  the  country,  his  first  thought  is  to 
a  fine  outlook  from  his  windows  ;  his  library  must  command  a 
western  view  :  a  sunset   every  day  bathing  the   should' 
Blue  Hills,  Wachusett,  and  the  peaks  of  Moiuulnoc  and  Unca- 


#80  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

noonuc.  What,  thirty  acres,  and  all  this  magnificence  for  fif 
teen  hundred  dollars !  It  would  be  cheap  at  fifty  thousand. 
He  proceeds  at  once,  his  eyes  dim  with  tears  of  joy,  to  fix  the 
spot  for  his  corner-stone.  But  the  man  who  is  to  level  the 
ground  thinks  it  will  take  many  hundred  loads  of  gravel  to 
fill  the  hollow  to  the  road.  The  stone-mason  who  should  build 
the  well  thinks  he  shall  have  to  dig  forty  feet :  the  baker  doubts 
he  shall  never  like  to  drive  up  to  the  door:  the  practical 
neighbor  cavils  at  the  position  of  the  barn  ;  and  the  citizen 
comes  to  know  that  his  predecessor  the  farmer  built  the  house 
in  the  right  spot  for  the  sun  and  wind,  the  spring,  and  water- 
drainage,  and  the  convenience  to  the  pasture,  the  garden,  the 
field,  and  the  road.  So  Dock  Square  yields  the  point,  and 
things  have  their  own  way.  Use  has  made  the  farmer  wise, 
and  the  foolish  citizen  learns  to  take  his  counsel.  From  step 
to  step  he  comes  at  last  to  surrender  at  discretion.  The  farm 
er  affects  to  take  his  orders  ;  but  the  citizen  says,  You  may 
ask  me  as  often  as  you  will,  and  in  what  ingenious  forms,  for 
an  opinion  concerning  the  mode  of  building  my  wall,  or  sink 
ing  my  well,  or  laying  out  my  acre,  but  the  ball  will  rebound 
to  you.  These  are  matters  on  which  I  neither  know,  nor  need 
to  know  anything.  These  are  questions  which  you  and  not  I 
shall  answer. 

Not  less,  within  doors,  a  system  settles  itself  paramount  and 
tyrannical  over  master  and  mistress,  servant  and  child,  cousin 
and  acquaintance.  'T  is  in  vain  that  genius  or  virtue  or  energy 
of  character  strive  and  cry  against  it.  This  is  fate.  And  't  is 
very  well  that  the  poor  husband  reads  in  a  book  of  a  new  way 
of  living,  and  resolves  to  adopt  it  at  home  :  let  him  go  home 
and  try  it,  if  he  dare. 

4.  Another  point  of 'economy  is  to  look  for  seed  of  the  same 
kind  as  you  sow  :  and  not  to  hope  to  buy  one  kind  with  anoth 
er  kind.  Friendship  buys  friendship  ;  justice,  justice  ;  mili 
tary  merit,  military  success.  Good  husbandry  finds  wife,  chil 
dren,  and  household.  The  good  merchant,  large  gains,  ships, 
stocks,  and  money.  The  good  poet,  fame,  and  literary  credit ; 
but  not  either,  the  other.  Yet  there  is  commonly  a  confusion 
of  expectations  on  these  points.  Hotspur  lives  for  the  mo 
ment  ;  praises  himself  for  it ;  and  despises  Furlong,  that  he 
does  not.  Hotspur,  of  course,  is  poor  ;  and  Furlong,  a  good 
provider.  The  old  circumstance  is,  that  Hotspur  thinks  it  a 
superiority  in  himself,  this  improvidence,  which  ought  to  be 
i-ewarded  with  Furlong's  lands. 


WEALTH.  381 

I  have  not  at  all  completed  my  design.  But  we  must  not 
l<-a  vi-  the  topic,  without  casting  one  glance  into  the  interiof 
08,  It  is  a  doctrine  of  philosophy,  that  man  is  a  liehiij; 
of  degrees  ;  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  world,  which  is  not 
repeated  in  his  body  ;  his  body  being  a  sort  of  miniature  of 
summary  of  the  world  :  then  that  there  is  nothing  in  his  body, 
which  is  not  repeated  as  in  a  celestial  sphere  in  his  mind  :  then, 
there  is  nothing  in  his  brain,  which  is  not  repeated  in  a  Lighcf 
sphere,  in  his  moral  system. 

5.  Now  these  things  are  so  in  Nature.  All  things  ascend, 
and  the  royal  rule  of  economy  is,  that  it  shoidd  ascend  also, 
or,  whatever  we  do  must  have  a  higher  aim.  Thus  it  is  a 
maxim,  that  money  is  another  kind  of  blood,  Pecunid  alter 
ifiHiiHis:  or,  the  estate  of  a  man  is  only  a  larger  kind  of  body, 
and  admits  of  regimen  analogous  to  his  bodily  circulations.  So 
there  is  no  maxim  of  the  merchant,  which  does  not  admit  of 
an  extended  sense,  e.  g.  "  The  best  use  of  money  is  to  pay 
debts";  "  Every  business  by  itself";  "Best  time  is  present 
time  "  ;  "  The  right  investment  is  in  tools  of  your  trade  "  ;  and 
the  like.  The  counting-room  maxims  liberally  expounded  are 
laws  of  the  Universe.  The  merchant's  economy  is  a  coarse 
symbol  of  the  soul's  economy.  It  is.  to  spend  for  power,  and 
not  for  pleasure.  It  is  to  invest  income  ;  that  is  to  say,  to  take 
up  particulars  into  generals ;  days  into  integral  eras,  — literary, 
emotive,  practical,  of  its  life,  and  still  to  ascend  in  its  invest 
ment.  The  merchant  has  but  one  rule,  absorb  and  invest :  he 
is  to  be  capitalist :  the  scraps  and  filings  must  be  gathered 
back  into  the  crucible  ;  the  gas  and  smoke  must  be  burned, 
and  earnings  must  not  go  to  increase  expense,  but  to  capital 
airain.  Well,  the  man  must  be  capitalist.  Will  he  spend  his 
income,  or  will  he  invest  ?  His  body  and  every  organ  is  under 
the  same  law.  His  body  is  a  jar,  in  which  the  liquor  of  life  is 
stored.  Will  he  spend  for  pleasure  1  The  way  to  ruin  is  short 
and  facile.  Will  he  not  spend,  but  hoard  for  power  r\  It 
passes  through  the  sacred  fermentations,  by  that  law  of  Xature 
whereby  everything  climbs  to  higher  platforms,  and  bodily 
viir«>r  becomes  mental  and  moral  vigor.  The  bread  he  eats  is 
first  strength  and  animal  spirits  ;  it  becomes,  in  higher  labora 
tories,  imagery  and  thought ;  and  in  still  higher  results,  cour 
age  and  endurance.  This  is  the  right  compound  interest  ;  this 
is  capital  doubled,  quadrupled,  centupled ;  man  raised  to  his 
highest  power. 

The  true  thrift  is  always  to  spend  on  the  higher  plane ;  to 


382  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

invest  and  invest,  with  keener  avarice,  that  he  may  spend  in 
spiritual  creation,  and  not  in  augmenting  animal  existence. 
Nor  is  the  man  enriched,  in  repeating  the  old  experiments  of 
animal  sensation,  nor  unless  through  new  powers  and  ascend- 
ing  pleasures,  he  knows  himself  by  the  actual  experience  of 
higher  good,  to  be  already  on  the  way  to  the  highest. 


IV. 

CULTURE 


Can  rules  or  tutors  educate 

The  semigod  whom  we  await  ? 

He  must  be  musical, 

Tremulous  impn—Monal, 

Alive  to  gentle  influence 

Of  land-cape  and  of  sky, 

And  tender  to  the  spirit-touch 

Of  man's  or  maiden's  eye  : 

But,  to  his  native  centre  fa<t, 

Shall  into  Future  fuse  the  Past, 

And  the  world's  flowing  fates  in  his  own  mould  recast. 


UNIVERSITY 


CULTURE. 


THE  word  of  ambition  at  the  present  day  is  Culture.  I 
Whilst  all  the  world  is  in  pursuit  of  power,  and  of  wealth 
as  a  means  of  power,  culture  corrects  the  theory  of  success.  A 
man  is  the  prisoner  of  his  power.  A  topical  memory  makes  him 
an  almanac  ;  a  talent  for  debate,  a  disputant  ;  skill  to  get  money 
makes  him  a  miser,  that  is,  a  beggar.  Culture  reduces  these 
inflammations  by  invoking  the  aid  of  other  powers  against  the 
dominant  talent,  and  by  appealing  to  the  rank  of  powers.  It 
watches  success.  Jj]ox4icjjormance,  Nature  has  no  mercy,  and 
sacrifices  the  jrerformcr  to  get  it  done  ;  makes  a  dropsy  or  a 
tympany  of  him.  If  she  wants  a  thumb,  she  makes  one  at  the 
cost  of  arms  and  legs,  and  any  excess  of  power  in  one  part 
I  is  usually  paid  for  at  once  by  some  defect  in  a  contiguous 
part. 

Our  efficiency  depends  so  much  on  our  concentration,  that 
Nature  usually  in  the  instances  where  a  marked  man  is  sent 
into  the  world,  overloads  him  with  bias,  sacrificing  his  sym 
metry  to  his  working  power.  It  is  said,  a  man  can  write  but 
one  book  :  and  if  a  man  have  a  detect,  it  is  apt  to  leave  its  im 
pression  on  all  his  performances.  If  she  creates  a  policeman 
like  Fourhi',  be  is  made  up  of  suspicions  and  of  plots  to  circum 
vent  them.  "The  air,"  said  Fouehe,  "is  full  of  poniards." 
The  physician  Sanetorins  spent  bis  life  in  a  pair  of  scales, 
weL'hinir  bis  food.  Lord  <  'okf,  valued  Ohaneer  highly,  because 
the  Cam m  Veman's  Tale  illustrates  the  statute  fifth//™.  IV. 
('/("/>.  4.  against  alchemy.  I  saw  a  man  who  believed  the 
principal  mischiefs  in  the  Finnish  state  were  derived  from  the 
devotion  to  musical  concerts.  A  freemason,  not  long  since, 
.  set  out  to  explain  to  this  country,  that  the  principal  cause  of 
the  success  of  (li-m-ral  Washington,  was,  the  aid  he  derived 
from  the  freemasons. 

VOL.    II.  17  T 


386  CONDUCT    OF   LIFE. 

But  worse  than  the  harping  on  one  string,  Nature  has 
secured  individualism,  by  giving  the  private  person  a  high 
conceit  of  his  weight  in  the  system.  ^The^ejiLoLsQcieiyLis 
egotists.  There  are  dull  and  bright,  sacred  and  profane,  coarse 
and  fine  egotists.  'T  is  a  disease  that,  like  influenza,  falls  on 
all  constitutions.  In  the  distemper  known  to  physicians  as 
chorea,  the  patient  sometimes  turns  round,  and  continues  to 
spin  slowly  on  one  spot.  Is  egotism  a  metaphysical  variety 
of  this  malady  ?  The  man  runs  round  a  ring  formed  by  his 
own  talent,  falls  into  an  admiration  of  it,  and  loses  relation  to 
the  world.  It  is  a  tendency  in  all  minds.  One  of  its  annoy 
ing  forms  is  a  craving  for  sympathy.  The  sufferers  parade  their 
miseries,  tear  the  lint  from  their  bruises,  reveal  their  indictable 
crimes,  that  you  may  pity  them.  They  like  sickness,  because 
physical  pain  will  extort  some  show  of  interest  from'  the  by 
standers,  as  we  have  seen  children,  who,  finding  themselves  of 
no  account  when  grown  .people  come  in,  will  cough  till  they 
choke,  to  draw  attention. 

This  distemper  is  the  scourge  of  talent,  —  of  artists,  invent 
ors,  and  philosophers.  Eminent  spiritualists  shall  have  an 
incapacity  of  putting  their  act  or  word  aloof  from  them,  and 
seeing  it  bravely  for  the  nothing  it  is.  Beware  of  the  man 
who  says,  '  I  am  on  the  eve  of  a  revelation.'  It  is  speedily 
punished,  inasmuch  as  this  habit  invites  men  to  humor  it,  and 
by  treating  the  patient  tenderly,  to  shut  him  up 'in  a  narrower 
selfism,  and  exclude  him  from  the  great  world  of  God's  cheer- 
fid  fallible  men  and  women.  Let  us  rather  be  insulted, 
whilst  we  are  insultable.  Religious  literature  has  eminent  ex 
amples,  and  if  we  run  over  6ur  private  list  of  poets,  critics, 
philanthropists,  and  philosophers,  we  shall  find  them  infected 
with  this  dropsy  and  elephantiasis,  which  we  ought  to  have 
tapped. 

This  goitre  of  egotism  is  so  frequent  among  notable  persons, 
that  we  must  infer  some  strong  necessity  in  nature  which  it 
subserves  ;  such  as  we  see  in  the  sexual  attraction.  The  pres 
ervation  of  the  species  was  a  point  of  such  necessity,  that 
Nature  has  secured  it  at  all  hazards  by  immensely  overloading 
the  passion,  at  the  risk  of  perpetual  crime  and  disorder.  So 
egotism  has  its  root  in  the  cardinal  necessity  by  which  each 
individual  persists  to  be  what  he  is. 

This  individuality  is  not  only  not  inconsistent  with  culture, 
but  is  the  basis  of  it.     Every  valuable  nature  is  there  in  its 
right,  and  the  student  we  speak  to  must  have  a  mothel- 


CULTn;i:.  387 

wit  invincible  by  his  culture,  which  uses  all  books,  arts,  facili 
ties,  and  eleirancio  «'f  intercourse,  but  is  never  subdued  and 
lost  in  them.  lie  only  is  a  well-made  man  who  lias  a  -ood 
determination.  And  the  end  <>f  culture  is  not  to  destroy  this, 
God  forbid  !  but  to  train  away  all  impediment  and  mixture, 
and  leave  nothing  but  pure  power.  Our  student  must  have  a 
Style  and  determination,  and  be  a  master  in  his  own  specialty. 
But,  having  this,  he  must  put  it  behind  him.  lie  must  have 
a  catholicity,  a  power  to  see  with  a  free  and  disenga^-d  look 
everv  object.  Yet  is  this  private  interest  and  self  so  over 
charged,  that,  if  a  man  seeks  a  companion  who  can  look  at  ob 
jects  for  their  own  sake,  and  without  all'eetion  or  self'- re  fere  nee, 
lie  will  find  the  fewest  who  will  u'ive  him  that  satisfaction  ; 
whilst  most  men  are  atllicted  with  a  coldness,  an  incuriosity, 
as  soon  as  anv  object  does  not  connect  with  their  sell'love. 
Though  they  talk  of  the  object  before  them,  they  are  thinking 
of  themselves,  and  their  vanity  is  laying  little  traps  for  your 
admiration. 

I  Jut  after  a  man  lias  discovered  that  there  are  limits  to  the 
interest  which  his  private  history  has  for  mankind,  he  still 
converses  with  his  familv,  or  a  few  companions,  — perhaps  with 
half  a  dozen  personalities  that  are  famous  in  his  neighborhood. 
In  1'. "Ston,  the  question  of  life  is  the  names  of  some  eight  or 
ten  men.  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Allston,  Doctor  ( 'hannin-j-.  Mr. 
Adams,  Mr.  Webster,  Mr.  Greeiiougli  ?  Have  v«»u  heard 
T.  Carrisou.  Father  Taylor,  Theodore  Parker?  Have 
you  talked  with  Messieurs  Turbinewhccl,  Summitlevel,  and 
Laeofrupees  }  Then  you  may  as  well  die.  In  New  York,  the 
question  is  of  some  other  eiirht,  or  ten,  or  twentv.  Have  you 
seen  a  few  lawyers,  merchants,  and  brokers,  —  two  or  three 
scholars,  two  or  three  capitalists,  two  or  three  editors  of  news 
papers  (  New  fork  ia  ft  fucked  orange.  All  conversation  is 
at  an  end,  when  we  have  discharged  our>e]ves  of  a  do/en  per 
sonalities,  domestic  or  imported,  which  make  up  our  American 
DOa  Nor  do  we  e.v>ect  anybody  to  be  other  than  a  faint 
copy  of  these  heroes. 

Life  is  very  narrow.  Brinir  any  club  or  company  of  intelli 
gent  men  together  airain  after  ten  years,  and  if  the  presence 
of  some  penetratiiu'-  ,nu<  ralmimr  Lfenius  could  dispose  th'-m 
to  tV;ini-;ne--.  what  a  confession  of  insanities  would  come  tip! 
The  "causes"  to  which  we  have  sacrificed.  Tariff  or  Democ 
racy.  Whi'_rism  or  Abolition.  Temperance  or  Socialism,  would 
show  like  roots  of  bitterness  and  dragons  of  wrath  ;  and  our 


388  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

talents  are  as  mischievous  as  if  each  had  been  seized  upon  by 
some  bird  of  prey,  which  had  whisked  him  away  from  fortune, 
from  truth,  from  the  dear  society  of  the  poets,  some  zeal, 
some  bias,  and  only  when  he  was  now  gray  and  nerveless, 
was  it  relaxing  its  claws,  and  he  awaking  to  sober  percep 
tions. 

Culture  is  the  suggestion  from  certain  best  thoughts,  that  a 
man  has  a  range  of  affinities,  through  which  he  can  modulate 
the  violence  of  any  master-tones  that  have  a  droning  prepon 
derance  in  his  scale,  and  succor  him  against  himself.  Culture 
redresses  his  balance,  puts  him  among  his  equals  and  superi 
ors,  revives  the  delicious  sense  of  sympathy,  and  warns  him 
of  the  dangers  of  solitude  and  repulsion.  J 

'T  is  not  a  compliment  but  a  disparagement  to  consult  a 
man  only  on  horses,  or  on  steam,  or  on  theatres,  or  on  eating, 
or  on  books,  and,  whenever  he  appears,  considerately  to  turn 
the  conversation  to  the  bantling  he  is  known  to  fondle.  In 
the  Norse  heaven  of  our  forefathers,  Thor's  house  had  five 
hundred  and  forty  floors ;  and  man's  house  has  five  hundred 
and  forty  floors.  His  excellence  is  facility  of  adaptation  and 
of  transition  through  many  related  points,  to  wide  contrasts 
and  extremes.  Culture  kills  his  exaggeration,  his  conceit  of 
his  village  or  his  city.  We  must  leave  our  pets  at  home, 
wlien  we  go  into  the  street,  and  meet  men  on  broad  grounds 
of  good  meaning  and  good  sense.  No  performance  is  worth 
loss  of  geniality.  'T  is  a  cruel  price  we  pay  for  certain  fancy 
goods  called  fine  arts  and  philosophy.  In  the  Norse  legend^ 
Allfadir  did  not  get  a  drink  of  Mimir's  spring,  (the  fountain 
of  wisdom,)  until  he  left  his  eye  in  pledge.  And  here  is  a 
pedant  that  cannot  unfold  his  wrinkles,  nor  conceal  his  wrath 
at  interruption  by  the  best,  if  their  conversation  do  not  fit  his 
impertinency,  —  here  is  he  to  afflict  us  with  his  personalities. 
'T  is  incident  to  scholars,  that  each  of  them  fancies  he  is 
pointedly  odious  in  his  community.  Draw  him  out  of  this  lim 
bo  of  irritability.  Cleanse  with  healthy  blood  his  parchment 
skin.  You  restore  to  him  his  eyes  which  he  left  in  pledge  at 
Mimir's  spring.  If  you  are  the  victim  of  your  doing,  who 
cares  what  you  do  1  We  can  spare  your  opera,  your  gazetteer, 
your  chemic  analysis,  your  history,  your  syllogisms.  Your 
man»of  genius  pays  dearly  for  his  distinction.  His  head  runs 
lip  into  a  spire,  and  instead  of  a  healthy  man,  merry  and  wise, 
he  is  some  mad  dominie.  Nature  is  reckless  of  the  individual 
When  she  has  points  to  carry,  she  carries  them.  To  wade  ;n 


CULTII:!..  389 

m.r.shos  and  sea  margins  is  the  destiny  of  certain  birds,  and 
they  are  so  accurately  made  for  this,  that  they  are  imprisoned 
in  those  places.  Kach  animal  out  of  its  /uitn'fiit  would  starve. 
'I'o  tin1  jih\  siciaii,  each  man,  each  woman,  is  an 'Amplification 
of  one  organ.  A  soldier,  a  locksmith,  a  hank-clerk,  and  a  dan 
cer  could  not  exchange  functions.  And  thus  we  are  victims 
of  adaptation. 

The  antidotes  against  this  organic  egotism,  are,  the  range 
and  varietv  of  attract  ions,  as  gained  by  acquaintance  with  the 
world,  with  men  of  merit,  with  classes  of  society,  with  travel, 
with  eminent  persons,  and  with  the  high  resources  of  philoso 
phy,  art,  and  religion  :  hooks,  travel,  society,  solitude. 

The  hardiest  sceptic  who  has  seen  a  horse  broken,  a  pointer 
trained,  or,  who  has  visited  a  menagerie,  or  the  exhibition  of 
the  Industrious  Kit-as,  will  not  deny  the  validity  of  education. 
"  A  boy,"  says  Plato,  M  is  the  most  vicious  of  all  wild  be,: 
and,  in  the  same  spirit,  the  old  English  poet  (Jascoknie  ^ays, 
"  A  boy  is  better  unborn  than  untaught."  The  city  h'veds 
one  kind  of  speech  and  manners;  the  back  country  a  different 
style  ;  the  sea,  another:  the  army,  a  fourth.  AYc  know  that 
an  army  which  can  be  confided  in,  may  be  formed  by  disci 
pline  ;  that,  by  systematic  discipline  all  men  may  be  made 
heroes  :  Marshal  Lannes  said  to  a  French  officer,  "  Know,  ( 'ol<»- 
nel,  that  none  but  a  poltroon  will  boast  that  he  .never  was 
afraid."  A  great  part  of  courage  is  the  courage  of  Iiavin^ 
done  the  thing  before.  And,  in  all  human  action,  those  facul 
ties  will  be  strong  which  are  used.  Robert  Owen  snjrt,  "  (Jive 
me  a  ti-vr  and  I  will  educate  him."  'T  is  inhuman  vo  want 
faith  in  the  power  of  education,  since  to  meliorate  is  the  law 
of  nature  ;  and  men  are  valued  precisely  as  they  -.-xert.  on 
ward  or  meliorating  force.  On  the  other  hand,  poltroonery  is 
the  acknowledging  a  .fault  to  be  incurable. 

Incapacity  of  'melioration  is  the  only  mortal  distemper. 
There  are  people  wlio  can*  never  understand  a  trm  •,  or  any 
second  or  expanded  sense  L'iven  to  your  words,  or  any  humor  ; 
but  remain  literalists.  after  hearing  the  music,  and  p->etry,  and 
rhetoric,  and  wit,  of  seventy  or  eighty  years.  They  are  past 
the  help  of  surgeon  or  clergy.  But  even  these  r;"i  understand 
pitchforks  and  the  cry  of  Fire  !  and  I  have  noticed  in  some 
of  this  class  a  marked  dislike  of  earthquakes. 

Let  us  make  our  education  brave  and  preventive.  Politics 
is  an  after-work,  a  poor  patching.  \\"e  an-  always  a  little  late. 
The  evil  is  done,  the  law  is  passed,  and  we  begin  the  uphill 


; 


390  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

agitation  for  repeal  of  that  of  which  we  ought  to  have  prevented 
the  enacting.  We  shall  one  day  learn  to  supersede  politics 
by  education.  What  we  call  our  root-and-branch  reforms  df 
slavery,  war,  •  gambling,  intemperance,  is  only  medicating  the 
symptoms.  We  must  begin  higher  up,  namely,  in  Education. 

Our  arts  and  tools  give  to  him  who  can  handle  them  much 
the  same  advantage  over  the  novice,  as  if  you  extended  hn 
life  ten,  fifty,  or  a  hundred  years.  And  I  think  it  the  part 
of  good  sense  to  provide  every  fine  soul  with  such  culture, 
that  it  shall  not,  at  thirty  or  forty  years,  have  to  say,  *  This 
which  I  might  do  is  made  hopeless  through  my  want  of  weap 
ons.' 

But  it  is  conceded  that  much  of  our  training  fails  of  effect ; 
tliac  all  success  is  hazardous  and  rare ;  that  a  large  part  of 
our  cost  and  pains  is  thrown  away.  Nature  takes  the  matter 
.into  her  own  hands,  and,  though  we  must  not  omit  any  jot  of 
our  system,  we  can  seldom  be  sure  that  it  has  availed  much, 
or,  that  as  much  good  would  not  have  accrued  from  a  different 
system. 

Books,  as  containing  the  finest  records  of  human  wit,  must 
always  enter  into  our  notion  of  culture.  The  best  heads 
that  ever  existed,  Pericles,  Plato,  Julius  Ctesar,  Shakespeare, 
Goethe,  Milton,  were  well-read,  universally  educated  men,  and 
quite  too  wise  to  undervalue  letters.  Their  opinion  has  weight, 
because  they  had  means  of  knowing  the  opposite  opinion.  We 
look  that  a  great  man  should  be  a  good  reader,  or,  in  propor 
tion  to  the  spontaneous  power,  should  be  the  assimilating 
power.  Good  criticism  is  very  rare,  and  always  precious.  I 
am  always  happy  to  meet  persons  who  perceive  the  transcend 
ent  superiority  of  Shakespeare  over  all  other  writers.  I  like 
people  who  like  Plato.  .Because  this  love  does  not  consist 
with  self-conceit. 

But  books  are  good  only  as  far  as  a  boy  is  ready  for  them. 
He  sometimes  gets  ready  very  slowly.  You  send  your  child 
to  the  schoolmaster,  but  't  is  the  school-boys  who  educate  him. 
You  send  him  to  the  Latin  class,  but  much  of  his  tuition 
conies,  on  his  way  to  school,  from  the  shop-windows.  You 
like  the  strict  rules  and  the  long  terms  ;  and  he  finds  his  best 
leading  in  a  by-way  of  his  own,  and  refuses  any  companions 
but  of  his  choosing.  He  hates  the  grammar  and  Gradus,  and 
loves  guns,  fishing-rods,  horses,  and  boats.  Well,  the  boy  is 
right ;  and  you  are  not  fit  to  direct  his  bringing  up,  if  your 
theory  leaves  out  his  gymnastic  training.  Archery,  cricket, 


CULTTHK.  391 

pun  and  fishing-roil,  horse  and  boat,  are  all  educators,  lihoral- 
izers;  and  so  arc  dan-  .  and  tho  street  talk:  and  - 

provided  only  the  boy  has  resources,  and  is  of  a  noble  aim 
ingenuous  strain  —these  will  not  servo  him  loss  than  the 
hooks.  Hole,.  -.  whist,  dancing,  and  theatricals.  The 

father  obeerrofl  that  another  hoy  has  learned  algebra  and 
geometry  in  the  same  time.  But  tho  first  hoy  has  acquired 
much  more  than  those  poor  panics  aloiii,'  with  them.  He  is 
infatuated  for  weeks  with  whist  and  ehess  ;  hut  pre>ently  will 
find  out,  as  you  did,  that  when  he  rises  from  the  game  toe 
loiiur  i -laved,  he  is  vacant  and  forlorn,  and  despises  himself. 
Thenceforward  it  takes  place  with  other  things,  and  has  its 
due  weight  in  his  experience.  These  minor  skills  and  accom 
plishments,  for  example,  dancing,  are  tickets  of  admission  to 
the  dress-circle  of  mankind,  and  the  heii>Lr  master  of  them  <-n- 
ahles  the  youth  to  judge  intelligently  of  much,  on  which, 
otherwise,  he  would  give  a  pedantic  squint.  Landor  said,  "I 
have  snlfered  more  from  my  had  (lancing,  than  from  all  the 
misfortunes  and  miseries  of  my  life  put  together."  Provided 
always  rhe  l"»v  is  teachahle,  (for  we  are  not  proposing  to  make 
a  statue  out  of  punk,)  foothall,  cricket,  archery,  swimming, 
skating,  climbinur,  fencing,  ridinir,  are  lessons  in  the  art  of 
power,  which  it  is  his  main  business  to  learn;  —  riding, 
specially,  of  which  Lord  Herbert  of  Chorbury  said,  "  A  good 
rider  on  a  <rood  horse  is  as  much  above  himself  and  others  as 
the  world  can  make  him."  Besides,  the  gun,  fishing-rod,  boat, 
and  horse,  constitute,  among  all  who  use  them,  secret  free- 

masonries.     They  are  as  if  they  belonged  to  one  club.  „ 

There  is  also  a  negative  value  in  these  arts.  Their  chief  use 
to  the  youth,  is,  not  amusement,  but  to  IKS  known  for  what 
they  are,  and  not  to  remain  to  him  occasions  of  heartburn. 
We  are  full  of  superstitions.  Each  cl  its  eyes  on  the 

advantages  it  has  not;  the  refined,  on  rude  strength,  the 
democrat,  on  birth  and  breeding.  One  of  the  benefits  of  a 
college  education  is,  to  show  the  boy  its  little  avail.  I  knew 
a  lemlincr  man  in  a  loading  city,  who,  having  set  his  heart  on 
an  education  at  the  university,  and  missed  it,  could  never 
quite  feel  himself  the  equal  of  his  own  brothers  who  had  gone 
thither.  His  easy  superiority  to  multitudes  of  professional 
men  could  never  quite  countervail  to  him  this  imaginary  de 
fect.  Balls,  riding,  wine-parties,  and  billiards  pass  to  a  poor 
boy  for  something  line  and  romantic,  which  they  are  not  :  and 
a  free  admission  to  them  on  an  equal  footing,  if  it  were  possi- 


392  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

ble,  only  once  r.r  twice,  would  be  worth  ten  times  its  cost,  by 
undeceiving  them. 

I  am  not  much  an  advocate  for  travelling,  and  I  observe 
that  men  run  away  to  other  countries,  because  they  are  not 
good  in  their  own,  and  run  back  to  their  own,  because  they 
pass  for  nothing  in  the  new  places.  For  the  most  part,  only 
the  light  characters  travel.  Who  are  you  that  have  no  task  to 
keep  you  at  home  1  I  have  been  quoted  as  saying  captious 
thipgs  about  travel ;  but  I  mean  to  do  justice.  I  think  there 
is  a  restlessness  in  our  people,  which  argues  want  of  character. 
All  educated  Americans,  first  or  last,  go  to  Europe ;  perhaps, 
because  it  is  their  mental  home,  as  the  invalid  habits  of  this 
country  might  suggest.  An  eminent  teacher  of  girls  said, 
"  The  idea  of  a  girl's  education,  is,  whatever  qualifies  her  for 
going  to  Europe."  Can  we  never  extract  this  tapeworm  of 
Europe  from  the  brain  of  our  countrymen  1  One  sees  very 
well  what  their  fate  must  be.  He  that  does  not  fill  a  place 
at  home,  cannot  abroad.  He  only  goes  there  to  hide  his 
insignificance  in  a  larger  crowd.  You  do  not  think  you  will 
find  anything  there  which  you  have  not  seen  at  home  1  The 
stuff  of  all  countries  is  just  the  same.  Do  you  suppose,  there 
is  any  country  where  they  do  not  scald  milkpans,  and  swaddle 
the  infants,  and  burn  the  brushwood,  and  broil  the  fish  1 
What  is  true  anywhere  is  true  everywhere.  And  let  him  go 
where  he  will,  he  can  only  find  so  much  beauty  or  worth  as  he 
carries. 

Of  course,  for  some  men,  travel  may  be  useful.  Naturalists, 
discoverers,  and  sailors  are  born.  Some  men  are  made  for 
couriers,  exchangers,  envoys,  missionaries,  bearers  of  despatches, 
as  others  are.  for  farmers  and  workingmen.  And  if  the  man 
is  of  a  light  and  social  turn,  and  Nature  has  aimed  to  make  a 
legged  and  winged  creature,  framed  for  locomotion,  we  must 
follow  her  hint,  and  furnish  him  with  that  breeding  which  gives 
currency,  as  sedulously  as  with  that  which  gives  worth.  But 
let  us  not  be  pedantic,  but  alloAv  to  travel  its  full  effect.  The 
boy  grown  up  on  the  farm,  which  he  has  never  left,  is  said  in 
the  country  to  have  had  no  chance,  and  boys  and  men  of  that 
condition  look  upon  work  on  a  railroad,  or  drudgery  in  a  city, 
as  opportunity.  Poor  country  boys  of  Vermont  and  Connecti 
cut  formerly  owed  what  knowledge  they  had  to  their  peddling 
trips  to  the  Southern  States.  California  and  the  Pacific 
Coast  is  now  the  university  of  this  class,  as  Virginia  was  in 
old  times.  *  To  have  some  chance '  is  their  word.  And  the 


CULTURE.  393 

phrase  'to  know  the  \v<>rld,'  or  to  travel,  is  synonymous  with 
all  men's  ideas  of  advantage  and  superiority.  No  doubt,  to  a 
man  of  sense,  travel  oilers  advantages.  As  many  languages  as 
he  lias,  as  many  friends,  as  many  arts  and  trades,  so  many 
tiiii  •  is  he  a  man.  A  foreign  country  is  a  point  of  compari 
son,  wherefrom  to  judge  his  own.  One  use  of  travel,  is,  to 
recommend  the  hooks  and  works  of  home,  —  for  we  go  to 
Europe  to  lie  Amcricani/ed  ;  and  another,  to  find  men.  For, 
as  Nature  has  put  fruits  apart  in  latitudes,  a  new  fruit  ill 
every  decree,  so  knowledge  and  tine  moral  quality  she  lodges 
in  distant  men.  And  thus,  of  the  six  or  seven  teachers  whom 
each  man  wants  among  his  contemporaries,  it  often  happens 
that  one  or  two  of  them  live  on  the  other  side  of  the  world. 

Moreover,  there  is  in  every  constitution  a  certain  solstice, 
when  the  stars  stand  still  in  our  inward  firmament,  and  when 
there  is  required  some  foivign  force,  some  diversion  or  altera 
tive  to  prevent  stagnation.  And,  as  a  medical  remedy,  travel 
seems  one  of  the  best.  Just  as  a  man  witnessing  the  admira 
ble  effect  of  ether  to  lull  pain,  and  meditating  on  the  contin 
gencies  of  wounds,  cancers,  lockjaws,  rejoices  in  Dr.  Jackson's 
benign  discovery,  so  a  man  who  looks  at  Paris,  at  Naples, 
or  at  London,  says:  'If  I  should  he  driven  from  my  own 
home,  here,  at  least,  my  thoughts  can  be  consoled  by  the  most 
prodigal  amusement  and  occupation  which  the  human  race  in 
ages  could  contrive  and  accumulate.' 

Akin  to  the  benefit  of  foreign  travel,  the  aesthetic  value  of 
railroads  is  to  unite  the  advantages  of  town  and  country  life, 
neither  of  which  we  can  spare.  A  man  should  live  in  or  near 
a  large  town,  because,  let  his  own  genius  be  what  it  may,  it 
will  repel  quite  as  much  of  agreeable  and  valuable  talent  as  it 
draws,  and,  in  a  city,  the  total  attraction  of  all  the  citizens  is 
sure  to  conquer,  first  or  last,  every  repulsion,  and  drag  the 
improbable  hermit  within  its  walls  some  day  in  the  year. 
In  town,  lie  can  find  the  swimming  school,  the  gymnasium,  the 
dancing-master,  the  shooting  gallery,  opera,  theatre,  and  pano 
rama  :  the  chemist's  shop,  the  museum  of  natural  history  ; 
the  gallery  of  tine  arts;  the  national  orators,  in  their  turn  ; 
foreign  travellers,  the  libraries.  a:id  his  club.  In  the  country, 
he  ran  find  solitude  and  reading,  manly  labor,  cheap  living, 
and  his  old  shoes;  moors  for  game,  hills  for  geologv,  and  LTOVC* 
for  devotion.  Aubrey  I  I  have  heard  Thomas  llobbes 

say,  that,  in  tin-  Karl  of  l>evon's  house,  in  Derbyshire,  there 
was  a  good  librarv  and  books  enough  for  him,  and  his  lordship 
17* 


394  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

stored  the  library  with  what  books  he  thought  fit  to  be  bought. 
But  the  want  of  good  conversation  was  a  very  great  inconveni 
ence,  and,  though  he  conceived  he  could  order  his  thinking  as 
well  as  another,  yet  he  found  a  great  defect.  In  the  country, 
in  long  time,  for  want  of  good  conversation,  one's  understand 
ing  and  invention  contract  a  moss  on  them,  like  an  old  paling 
in  an  orchard." 

Cities  give  us  collision.  'T  is  said,  London  and  New  York 
take  the  nonsense  out  of  a  man.  A  great  part  of  our  educa 
tion  is  sympathetic  and  social.  Boys  and  girls  who  have  been 
Brought  up  with  well-informed  and  superior  people  show  in 
heir  manners  an  inestimable  grace.  Fuller  says,  that  "  Wil- 
iam,  Earl  of  Nassau,  won  a  subject  from  the  King  of  Spain, 
every  time  he  put  off  his  hat."  You  cannot  have  one  well- 
i)red  man,  without  a  whole  society  of  such.  They  keep  each 
other  up  to  any  high  point.  Especially  women  ;  —  it  requires 
a  great  many  cultivated  women,  —  saloons  of  bright,  elegant, 
reading  women,  accustomed  to  ease  and  refinement,  to  specta 
cles,  pictures,  sculpture,  poetry,  and  to  elegant  society,  in 
order  that  you  should  have  one  Madame  de  Stael.  The  head 
of  a  commercial  house,  or  a  leading  lawyer  or  politician  is 
brought  into  daily  contact  with  troops  of  men  from  all  parts 
of  the  country,  and  those  too  the  driving-wheels,  the  business 
men  of  each  section,  and  one  can  hardly  suggest  for  an  ap 
prehensive  man  a  more  searching  culture.  Besides,  we  must 
remember  the  high  social  possibilities  of  a  million  of  men. 
The  best  bribe  which  London  offers  to-day  to  the  imagination, 
is,  that,  in  such  a  vast  variety  of  people  and  conditions,  one 
can  believe  there  is  room  for  persons  of  romantic  character  to 
exist,  and  that  the  poet,  the  mystic,  and  the  hero  may  hope  to 
confront  their  counterparts. 

I  wish  cities  could  teach  their  best  lesson,  —  of  quiet  man 
ners.  It  is  the  foible  especially  of  American  youth,  —  pre 
tension.  The  mark  of  the  man  of  the  world  is  absence  of 
pretension.  He  xdoes  not  make  a  speech ;  he  takes  a  low 
business-tone,  avoids  all  brag,  is  nobody,  dresses  plainly, 
promises  not  at  all,  performs  much,  speaks  in  monosyllables, 
hugs  his  fact.  He  calls  his  employment  by  its  lowest  name, 
and  so  takes  from  evil  tongues  their  sharpest  weapon.  His 
conversation  clings  to  the  weather  and  the  news,  yet  he  allows 
himself  to  be  surprised  into  thought,  and  the  unlocking  of  his 
learning  and  philosophy-  How  the  imagination  is  piqued  by 
'Aecdotes  of  some  grvivt  ^nan  passing  incognito,  as  a  king  in 


CULTURE. 

gray  clothes,  — of  Napoleon  affecting  a  plain  suit  at  his  gll«- 
tering  levee  ;  of  l>urn>,  or  Scott,  or  iJeet hoven,  or  Wellington^ 
or  (Joethe,  or  any  container  of  transcendent  power,  parsing  for 
nobody;  of  Epamin<»ndas,  '•  who  never  says  any  thing,  but  will 
listen  eternally";  of  ( Joethe,  who  pivfenvd  trilling  subjects 
and  common  expressions  in  intercourse  with  si  rangers,  \\OI-M- 
rather  than  better  clothes,  and  to  appear  a  little  more  ca 
pricious  than  he  was.  There  are  advantages  in  the  old  hat 
and  box-coat.  I  have  heard,  that,  throughout  this  country,  a 
certain  respect  is  paid  to  good  broadcloth  ;  but  dress  makes 
a  little  restraint :  men  will  not  commit  themselves.  But  the 
box-coat  is  like  wine  •  it  unlocks  the  tongue  and  men  say  what 
they  think.  An  old  poet  says, 

"  Oo  fur  and  po  sparing, 
For  you  '11  find  it  certain, 


The  poorer  mill  the  l>a-er  yon  appear, 
The  more  you  '11  look  through  still."  * 


Not   .much   otherwise    Milncs   writes,    in   the    "  Lay  of    the 
Humble," 

"  To  me  men  arc  for  what  thr-y  are, 
They  wear  no  masks  with  nie." 

'T  is  odd  that  our  people  should  have,  —  not  water  on  the 
brain, — but  a  little  gas  there.  A  shrewd  foreigner  said  of 
the  Americans,  that,  "  whatever  they  say  has  a  little  tin-  air 
of  a  speech."  Yet  one  of  the  traits  down  in  the  books  as  dis 
tinguishing  the  Anglo-Saxon,  is,  a  trick  of  self-disparagement 
To  be  sure^  in  old,  dense  countries,  among  a  million  of  good 
coats,  a  fine  coat  comes  to  be  no  distinction,  aaid  you  find 
humorists.  In  an  English  party,  a  man  with  no  marked  man 
ners  or  features,  with  a  face  like  red  dough,  unexpectedly  dis 
closes  wit,  learning,  a  wide  range  of  topics,  and  personal  fa 
miliarity  with  good  men  in  all  parts  of  the  world,  until  you 
think  you  have  fallen  upon  some  illustrious  personage.  Can 
it  be  that  the  American  forest  has  refreshed  some  weeds  of  old 
Pictish  barbarism  just  ready  to  die  out,  —  the  love  of  the 
scarlet  feather,  of  beads,  and  tinsel  1  The  Italians  are  fond 
of  red  clothes,  peacock  plumes,  and  embroidery ;  and  I  re 
member  one  rainy  morning  in  the  city  of  Palermo,  the  81 
was  in  a  blaze  with  scarlet  umbrellas.  The  English  have  a 
plain  taste.  The  equipages  of  the  grandees  are  plain.  A 
gorgeous  livery  indicates  new  and  awkward  city  wealth.  Mr. 
Pitt,  like  Mr.  Pym,  thought  the  title  of  Mitter  good  against 

*  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  The  Tamer  Tamed 


396  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

any  king  in  Europe.  They  have  piqued  themselves  on  govern 
ing  the  whole  world  in  the  poor,  plain,  dark  Committee-room 
which  the  House  of  Commons  sat  in,  before  the  fire. 

Whilst  we  want  cities  as  the  centres  where  the  best  things 
are  found,  cities  degrade  us  by  magnifying  trifles.  The 
countryman  finds  the  town  a  chop-house,  a  barber's  shop. 
He  has  lost  the  lines  of  grandeur  of  the  horizon,  hills  and 
plains,  and  with  them,  sobriety  and  elevation.  He  has  come 
among  a  supple,  glib-tongued  tribe,  who  live  for  show,  servile 
to  public  opinion.  Life  is  dragged  down  to  a  fracas  of  pitiful 
cares  and  disasters.  You  say  the  gods  ought  to  respect  a  life 
whose  objects  are  their  own ;  but  in  cities  they  have  betrayed 
you  to  a  cloud  of  insignificant  annoyances  : 

"  Mirmidons,  race  fe"conde, 
Mirmidons, 

Enfin  nous  commandons ; 
Jupiter  livre  le  monde 
Aux  mirmidons,  aux  mirmidons."  * 

'T  is  heavy  odds 

Against  the  gods, 

When  they  will  match  with  myrmidons. 

We  spawning,  spawning  myrmidons, 

Our  turn  to-day !  we  take  command, 

Jove  gives  the  'globe  into  the  hand 

Of  myrmidons,  of  myrmidons. 

What  is  odious  but  noise,  and  people  who  scream  and  be 
wail  1  people  whose  vane  points  always  east,  who  live  to  dine, 
who  send  for  the  doctor,  who  coddle  themselves,  who  toast 
their  feet  on  the  register,  who  intrigue  to  secure  a  padded 
chair,  and  a  corner  out  of  the  draught.  Suffer  them  once  to 
begin  the  enumeration  of  their  infirmities,  and  the  sun  will 
go  down  on  the  unfinished  tale.  Let  these  trifles  put  us  out 
of  conceit  with  petty  comforts.  To  a  man  at  work,  the  frost 
is  but  a  color  :  the  rain,  the  wind,  he  forgot  them  when  he 
came  in.  Let  us  learn  to  live  coarsely,  dress"  plainly,  and  lie 
hard.  The  least  habit  of  dominion  over  the  palate  has  certain 
good  effects  not  easily  estimated.  Neither  will  we  be  driven  into 
a  quiddling  abstemiousness.  'T  is  a  superstition  to  insist  on  a 
special  diet.  All  is  made  at  last  of  the  same  chemical  atoms. 

A  man  in  pursuit  of  greatness  feels  no  little  wants.  How 
can  you  mind  diet,  bed,  dress,  or  salutes  or  compliments,  or 
the  figure  you  make  in  company,  or  wealth,  or  even  the  bring 
ing  things  to  pass,  when  you  think  how  paltry  are  the  machin 
ery  and  the  workers  1  Wordsworth  was  praised  to  me,  in 

*  Be'ranger. 


CULTURE.  367 

Westmoreland,  for  having  afforded  to  his  country  neighbors  an 
example  of  a  modest  household  where  comfort  and  culture 
we iv  secured,  without  display.  And  a  tender  hoy  who  wears 
his  rustv  cap  and  outgrown  coat,  that  he  may  secure  the  cov 
eted  place  in  college,  and  the  right  ill  the  library,  is  educated 
to  some  purpose.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  self-denial  and 
manliness  in  poor  and  middle-class  houses,  in  town  and  coun 
try,  that  has  not  got  into  literature,  and  never  will,  but  that 
keep*  the  e;irth  sweet  ;  that  saves  on  superfluities,  and  spends 
on  essentials  ;  that  goes  rusty,  and  educates  the  hoy  ;  that  sells 
the  horse,  but  builds  the  school  ;  works  early  and  late,  takes 
two  looms  in  the  factory,  three  looms,  six  looms,  but  pa\>  oft' 
the  mortgage  on  the  patemal  farm,  and  then  goes  back  cheer 
fully  to  work  again. 

We  can  ill  spare  the  commanding  social  benefits  of  cities  ; 
they  must  be  used  ;  yet  cautiously,  and  haughtily,  —  and  will 
yield  their  best  values  to  him  who  best  can  do  without  them. 
Keep  the  town  for  occasions,  but  the  habits  should  bo  formed 
to  retirement.  Solitude,  thj  safeguard  of  mediocrity,  is  to 
genius  the  stern  friend,  the  cold,  obscure  shelter  where  moult 
the  wings  which  will  bear  it  farther  than  suns  and  stars.  Ho 
who  should  inspire  and  lead  his  race  must  be  defended  from  trav 
elling  with  the  souls  of  other  men,  from  living,  breathing,  read 
ing,  and  writing  in  the  daily,  time-worn  yoke  of  their  opinions. 
"  In  the  morning,  —  solitude,"  said  Pythagoras  ;  that  Nature 
ma\  speak  to  the  imagination,  as  she  does  never  in  company, 
and  that  her  favorite  may  make  acquaintance  with  those 
divine  strengths  which  disclose  themselves  to  serious  and 
abstracted  thought.  T  is  very  certain  that  Plato,  Plotinus, 
Archimedes,  Hermes,  Newton,  Milton,  Wordsworth,  did  not 
..ive  in  a  crowd,  but  descended  into  it  from  time  to  time  ar 

tctors  ;  and  the  wise  instructor  will  press  this  point  o 
securing  to  the  young  soul  in  the  disposition  of  time  and  the 
arrangements  of  living,  periods  and  habits  of  solitude.  The 
hiirh  advantage  of  university  life  is  often  the  mere  mechanical 
one,  I  mav  call  it,  of  a  separate  chamber  and  fire,  —  which 
pan-Tits  will  allow  the  boy  without  hesitation  at  Cambridge, 
but  do  not  think  needful  at  home.  We  say  solitude,  to  mark 
the  character  of  the  tone  of  thought  ;  but  if  it  can  be  shared 
between  two  or  more  than  two,  it  is  happier,  and  not  less 
noble.  "  We  four."  wrote  Neauder  to  his  sacred  friends, 
"will  enjoy  at  Halle  the  inward  hlroedness  of  a  r />//'/>•  l>.  /, 
whose  foundations  are  forever  friendship.  The  more  I  know 


398  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

you,  the  more  I  dissatisfy  and  must  dissatisfy  all  my  wontea 
companions.  Their  very  presence  stupefies  me.  The  common 
understanding  withdraws  itself  from  the  one  centre  of  all  ex 
istence." 

Solitude  takes  off  the  pressure  of  present  importunities  that 
more  catholic  and  humane  relations  may  appear.  The  saint 
and  poet  seek  privacy  to  ends  the  most  public  and  universal ; 
and  it  is  the  secret  of  culture,  to  interest  the  man  more  in  his 
public  than  in  his  private  quality.  Here  is  a  new  poem, 
which  elicits  a  good  many  comments  in  the  journals,  and  in 
conversation.  From  these  it  is  easy,  at  last,  to  eliminate  the 
verdict  which  readers  passed  upon  it ;  and  that  is,  in  the  main, 
unfavorable.  The  poet,  as  a  craftsman,  is  only  interested  in 
the  praise  accorded  to  him,  and  not  in  the  censure,  though  it 
be  just.  And  the  poor  little  poet  hearkens  only  to  that,  and 
rejects  the  censure,  as  proving  incapacity  in  the  critic.  But 
the  poet  cultivated  becomes  a  stockholder  in  both  companies, 
say  Mr.  Curfew,  —  in  the  Curfew  stock,  and  in  the  humani 
ty  stock  ;  and,  in  the  last,  exults  as  much  in  the  demonstra 
tion  of  the  unsoundness  of  Curfew,  as  his  interest  in  the 
former  gives  him  pleasure  in  the  currency  of  Curfew.  For, 
the  depreciation  of  his  Curfew  stock  only  shows  the  immense 
values  of  the  humanity  stock.  As  soon  as  he  sides  with  his 
critic  ao-ainst  himself,  with  joy,  he  is  a  cultivated  man.  ^ 

We  must  have  an  intellectual  quality  in  all  property  and  in 
all  action,  or  they  are  naught.     I  must  have  children,  I  must 
have   events,  I  must  have  a  social  state  and  history,  or  my 
thinkine  and  speaking  want  body  or  basis.     But  to  give  these 
accessories  any  value,  I  must  know  them  as  contingent  and 
rather  showy  possessions,  which  pass  for  more  to  the  people 
than  to  me.     We  see  this  abstraction  in  scholars,  as  a  matter 
of  course  ;  but  what  a  charm  it  adds  when  observed  in  prac 
tical  men.     Bonaparte,  like  Caesar,  was  intellectual,  and  could 
look  at  every  object  for  itself,  without  affection.     Though  an 
egotist   a  Foutrance,  he   could  criticise  a  play,  a  building,  a 
character,  on  universal  grounds,  and  give  a  just  opinion.     A 
man  known  to  us  only  as  a  celebrity  in  politics  or  m  trade 
gains  largely  in  our  esteem  if  we  discover  that  he  has  some  in 
tellectual  taste  or  skill ;  as  when  we  learn  of  Lord  Fairfax  the 
Lono-  Parliament's  general,  his  passion  for  antiquarian  studies  ; 
or  of  the  French  regicide  Carnot,  his  sublime  genius  in  mathe 
matics  ;  or  of  a  living  banker,  his  success  in  poetry  ;  or  of  a 
partisan  journalist,   his  devotion   to    ornithology.     So,   if  in 


cri/rrRi:.  309 

travelling  in  the  dreary  wildernesses  of  Arkansas  or  Texas,  we 
sin. i ild  observe  on  the  next  seat  a  man  reading  Horace,  or 
Martial,  or  Calderon,  we  should  wish  to  hug  him.  In  callings 
that  require  roughest  energy,  soldiers,  sea-captains,  and  civil 
engineers  sometimes  betray  a  tine  insight,  if  only  through  a 
ivrtain  gentleness  when  off  duty  ;  a  good-natured  admission 
that  there  are  illusions,  and  who  shall  say  that  he  is  not  their 
sport  I  We  onlv  vary  the  phrase,  not  the  doctrine,  when  we 
say  that  culture  opens  the  sense  of  beauty.  A  man  is  a  beg 
gar  who  onlv  lives  to  the  useful,  and,  however  he  may  serve M 
a  pin  or  rivet  in  the  social  machine,  cannot  be  said  to  have  ar 
rived  at  self-possession.  I  suffer,  every  day,  from  the  want  of 
perception^  beauty  in  people.  They  do  not  know  the  charm 
with  which  all  moments  and  objects  can  be  embellished,  tho 
charm  of  manners,  of  self-command,  of  benevolence.  Kepo^e 
and  cheerfulness  are  the  badge  of  the  gentleman,  —  repose  in 
energy.  The  Greek  battle-pieces  are  calm;  the  heroes,  in 
whatever  violent  actions  engaged,  retain  a  serene  aspect  :  :is 
we  say  of  Niagara,  that  it  falls  without  speed.  A  cheerful,  in 
telligent  face  is  the  end  of  culture,  and  success  enough.  For 
it  indicates  the  purpose  of  Nature  and  wisdom  attained. 

When  our  higher  faculties  are  in  activity,  we  are  domesti 
cated,  and  awkwardness  and  discomfort  give  place  to  natural 
and  agreeable  movements.  It  is  noticed,  that  the  considera 
tion  of  the  great  periods  and  spaces  of  astronomy  induces  a 
dignity  of  mind,  and  an  indifference  to  death.  The  influence 
of  tine  scenery,  the  presence  of  mountains,  appeases  our  irri 
tations  and  elevates  our  friendships.  Even  a  high  dome,  and 
the  expansive  interior  of  a  cathedral,  have  a  sensible  effect  on 
manners.  1  have  heard  that  stiff  people  lose  something  of 
their  awkwardness  under  high  ceilings,  and  in  spacious  halls. 
I  think  sculpture  and  painting  have  an  effect  to  teach  us 
manners,  and  abolish  hurry. 

But,  over  all,  culture  must  reinforce  from  higher  influx  the 
empirical  skills  of  eloquence,  or  of  politics,  or  of  trade,  and 
the  useful  arts.  There  is  !i  certain  loftiness  of  thought  and 
power  to  marshal  ami  adjust  particulars,  which  can  only  come 
from  an  insight  of  their  whole  connection.  The  orator  who 
has  onre  seen  things  in  their  divine  order,  will  never  quite 
lose  sight  of  this,  and  will  come  to  affairs  as  from  a  higher 
ground,  and,  though  he  will  say  nothing  of  philosophy,  he 
will  have  a  certain  mastery  in  dealing  with  them,  and  an  in 
capableness  of  being  dazzled  or  frighted,  which  will  distinguish 


400  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

his  handling  from  that  of  attorneys  and  factors.  A  man  who 
stands  on  a  good  footing  with  the  heads  of  parties  at  Wash 
ington,  reads  the  rumors  of  the  newspapers,  and  the  guesses 
of  provincial  politicians,  with  a  key  to  the  right  and  wrong  in 
each  statement,  and  sees  well  enough  where  all  this  will  end. 
Archimedes  will  look  through  your  Connecticut  machine,  at  a 
glance,  and  judge  of  its  fitness.  And  much  more,  a  wise  man 
who  knows  not  only  what  Plato,  but  what  Saint  John  can 
show  him,  can  easily  raise  the  affair  he  deals  with  to  a 
certain  majesty.  Plato  says  Pericles  owed  this  elevation  to 
the  lessons  of  Anaxagoras.  Burke  descended  from  a  higher 
sphere  when  he  would  influence  human  affairs.  Franklin, 
Adams,  Jefferson,  Washington,  stood  on  a  fine  hiftnauity,  be 
fore  which  the  brawls  of  modern  senates  are  but  pot-house 
politics. 

But  there  are  higher  secrets  of  culture,  which  are  not  for 
the  apprentices,  but  for  proficients.  These  are  lessons  only 
for  the  brave.  We  must  know  our  friends  under  ugly  masks. 
The  calamities  are  our  friends.  Ben  Jonson  specifies  in  his 
address  to  the  Muse  :  — 

"  Get  him  the  time's  long  grudge,  the  court's  ill-will, 
And,  reconciled,  keep  him  suspected  still, 
Make  him  lose  all  his  friends,  and,  what  is  worse, 
Almost  all  ways  to  any  better  course ; 
With  me  thou  leav'st  a  better  Muse  than  thee, 
And  which  thou  brought'st  me,  blessed  Poverty." 

We  wish  to  learn  philosophy  by  rote,  and  play  at  heroism. 
But  the  wiser  God  says,  Take  the  shame,  the  poverty,  and  the 
penal  solitude,  that  belong  to  truth-speaking.  Try  the  rough 
water  as  well  as  the  smooth.  Rough  water  can  teach  lessons 
worth  knowing.  When  the  state  is  unquiet,  personal  qualities 
are  more  than  ever  decisive.  Fear  not  a  revolution  which 
will  constrain  you  to  live  five  years  in  one.  Don't  be  so  ten 
der  at  making  an  enemy  now  and  then.  Be  willing  to  go  to 
Coventry  sometimes,  and  let  the  populace  bestow  on  you  their 
coldest  contempts.  The  finished  man  of  the  world  must  eat  of 
every  apple  once.  He  must  hold  his  hatreds  also  at  arm's 
length,  and  not  remember  spite.  He  has  neither  friends  nor 
enemies,  but  values  men  only  as  channels  of  power. 

He  who  aims  high  must  dread  an  easy  home  and  popular 
manners.  Heaven  sometimes  hedges  a  rare  character  about 
with  ungainliness  and  odium,  as  the  burr  that  protects  the 
fruit.  If  there  is  any  great  and  good  thing  in  store  for  you, 
it  will  not  come  at  the  first  or  the  second  call,  nor  in  the  shape 


CULTURE.  401 

of  fashion,  case,  and  city  drawing-rooms.  Popularity  is  for 
dolls.  "Steep  and  cra-_ru'y,"  said  Porphyry,  "is  the  path  of 
the  gods."  Open  your  Marcus  Antoninus.  In  the  opinion  of 
the  ancients,  he  was  the-  irivat  man  who  sconied  to  shine,  and 
who  contested  the  frowns  of  fortune.  They  preferred  the 
noble  vessel  t.<n  late  for  the  tide,  contending  with  winds  and 
waves,  dismantled  and  unri^ed,  to  her  companion  borne  into 
harbor  with  colors  flying  and  guns  firing.  There  is  none  of 
the  social  goods  that  may  not  be  purchased  too  dear,  and  mere 
aniiableness  must  not  take  rank  with  high  aims  and  self-sub- 


Bettine  replies  to  Goethe's  mother,  who  chides  her  disregard 
of  dress,  "  If  I  cannot  do  as  I  have  a  mind,  in  our  poor 
Frankfort,  I  shall  not  carry  things  far."  And  the  youth  must 
rate  at  its  true  mark  the  inconceivable  levity  of  local  opinion. 
The  longer  we  live,  the  more  we  must  endure  the  elementary 
existence  of  men  and  women;  and  every  brave  heart  must 
treat  society  as  a  child,  and  never  allow  it  to  dictate. 

"  All  that  class  of  the  severe  and  restrictive  virtues,"  said 
Burke,  "are  almost  too  costly  for  humanity."  Who  wishes  to 
be  severe  ?  Who  wishes  to  resist  the  eminent  and  polite,  in 
behalf  of  the  poor,  and  low,  and  impolite'?  and  who  that  dares 
do  it,  can  keep  his  temper  sweet,  his  frolic  spirits  ]  The  high 
•virtues  are  not  debonair,  but  have  their  redress  in  being  illus 
trious  at  last.  \Yhat  forests  of  laurel  we  bring,  and  the  tears 
of  mankind,  to  those  who  stood  firm  against  the  opinion  of 
their  contemporaries  !  The  measure  of  a  master  is  his  suc 
cess  in  bringing  all  men  round  to  his  opinion  twenty  years 
later. 

Let  me  say  here,  that  culture  cannot  begin  too  early.  In 
talking  with  scholars,  I  observe  that  they  lost  on  ruder  com 
panions  those  years  of  boyhood  which  alone  could  give  imagi 
native  literature  a  religious  and  infinite  quality  in  their  esteem. 
I  find,  too,  that  the  chance  for  appreciation  is  much  increa-ed 
by  l.eingthe  son  of  an  apprcciator,  and  that  these  boys  who 
now  grow  up  are  caught  not  only  years  too  late,  but  two  or 
three  births  too  late,  to  make  the  best  scholars  of.  And  I 
think  it  a  presentable  motive  to  a  scholar,  that,  as,  in  an  old 
community,  a  well-born  proprietor  is  usually  found,  after  the 
first  heats  of  youth,  to  be  a  careful  husband,  and  to  feel  a 
habitual  desire  that  the  estate  shall  suffer  no  harm  by  his  ad 
ministration,  but  shall  be  delivered  down  to  the  next  heir  in 
as  good  condition  as  he  received  it  ;  —  so,  a  considerate  man 

z 


£02  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

will  reckon  himself  a  subject  of  that  secular  melioration  by 
which  mankind  is  mollified,  cured,  and  refined,  and  will  shun 
every  expenditure  of  his  forces  on  pleasure  or  gain,  which  will 
jeopard  this  social  and  secular  accumulation. 

The  fossil  strata  show  us  that  Nature  began  with  rudimen- 
tal  forms,  and  rose  to  the  more  complex,  as  fast  as  the  earth 
was  fit  for  their  dwelling-place ;  and  that  the  lower  perish,  as 
the  higher  appear.     Very  few  of  our  race  can  be  said  to  be 
yet  finished  men.     We  still  carry  sticking  to  us  some  remains 
of  the  preceding  inferior   quadruped  organization.      We  call 
these  millions  men  ;  but  they  are  not  yet  men.     Half  engaged 
in  the  soil,  pawing  to  get  free,  man  needs  all  the  music  that 
can  be  brought  to  disengage  him.     If  Love,  red  Love  with 
tears  and  joy;  if  Want  with  his  scourge;  if  War  with  his 
cannonade  ;  if  Christianity  with  his  charity  ;  if  Trade  with  its 
money ;  if  Art  with  its  portfolios ;  if  Science  with  her  tele.- 
graphs  through  the  deeps  of  space  and  time ;  can  set  his  dull 
nerves  throbbing,  and  by  loud  taps  on  the  tough  chrysalis,  can 
break  its  walls,  and  let  the   new  creature  emerge  erect  and 
free,  —  make  way,  and  sing  paan  !     The  age  of  the  quadruped 
is  to  go  out,  —  the  age  of  the  brain  and  of  the  heart  is  to  come 
in      The  time  will  come  when  the  evil  forms  we  have  known 
can  no  more  be  organized.     Man's  culture  can  spare  nothing, 
wants  all  the  material.     He  is  to  convert  all  impediments  into 
,    instruments,  all  enemies  into  power.      The   formidable  mis 
chief  will  only  make  the  more  useful  slave.     And  if  one  shall 
read  the  future  of  the  race  hinted  in  the  organic  effort  of  Na 
ture  to  mount  and  meliorate,  and  the  corresponding  impulse 
to  the  Better  in  the  human  being,  we  shall  dare  affirm  that 
there  is  nothing  he  will  not  overcome  and  convert,  until  at 
last  culture  shall  absorb  the  chaos  and  gehenna.     He  will  con 
vert  the  Furies  into  Muses,  and  the  hells  into  benefit. 


V. 

BEHAVIOR 


Grace,  Beauty,  and  Caprice 

Build  this  golden  portal; 

Graceful  women,  cho-iMi  men 

Dazzle  every  mortal: 

Their  sweet  and  lofty  countenance 

His  enchanting  food; 

He  need  not  -TO  to  them,  their  forms 

Px-t-t  hi-  solitude. 

He  looketh  seldom  in  their  face, 

Hi-  eve-  explore  the  <_rromid, 

The  p-een  Lrra  —  i-  a  lOoking-glftM 

Whereon  tlieir  traits  are  found. 

Little  he  says  to  them, 

So  dances  his  heart  in  his  hreast, 

Their  tranquil  mien  hereaveth  him 

Of  wit,  of  words,  of  re-r. 

Too  weak  to  win,  too  fond  to  shun 

The  tyrants  of  his  doom. 

The  much  deceived  Kndymion 

Slips  behind  a  tomb. 


f  .DIVERSITY1 


BEHAVIOR. 


r  I  "HE  soul  which  animates  Nature  is  not  less  significantly 
published  in  the  figure,  movement,  and  gesture  of  ani 
mated  bodies,  than  in  its  last  vehicle  of  articulate  speech. 
This  silent  and  subtile  language  is  Manners  ;  not  what,  but  Innr. 
Life  expresses.  A  statue  lias  no  tongue,  and  needs  none.  Good 
tableaux  do  not  need  declamation.  Nature  tells  every  secret 
once.  Yes,  but  in  man  she  tells  it  all  the  time,  by  form,  atti 
tude,  gesture,  mien,  face,  and  parts  of  the  face,  and  by  the 
whole  action  of  the  machine.  The  visible  carriage  or  action 
of  the  individual,  as  resulting  from  his  organization  and  his 
will  combined,  we  call  manners.  What  are  they  but  thought 
entering  the  hands  and  feet,  controlling  the  movements  of  the 
body,  the  speech  and  behavior1? 

There  is  always  a  best  way  of  doing  everything,  if  it  be  to 
boil  an  egg.  Manners  are  the  happy  ways  of  doing  things  ; 
each  once  a  stroke  of  genius  or  of  love,- — now  repeated  and 
hardened  into  usage.  They  form  at  last  a  rich  varnish,  with 
which  the  routine  of  life  is  washed,  and  its  details  adorned. 
If  they  are  superficial,  so  are  the  dew-drops  which  give  such  a 
depth  to  the  morning  meadows.  Manners  are  very  communi 
cable  ;  men  catch  them  from  each  other.  Consuelo.  in  the; 
romance,  boasts  of  the  lessons  she  had  given  the  nobles  in 
manners,  on  the  stage  :  and,  in  real  life,  Talma  taught  Napo 
leon  the  arts  of  behavior,  (ienius  invents  fine  manners,  \\hidi 
the  baron  and  the  baroness  copy  very  fast,  and,  by  the  advan- 
taLT'-  of  a  palace,  better  the  instruction.  They  stereotype  the 
lesson  they  have  learned  into  a  mode. 

The  power  of  manners  is  ineessant,  —  an  clement  as  nm-oi,- 
cealable  as  fire.     The  nobility  cannot   in  any  country  be  dis 
guised,  and  no  more  in  a  republic  or  a  denn»«-ra«-y.   than  in  a 
kingdom.      No  man  can  resist  their  influence.      There  ar- 
tain  manners  which  are  learned  in  good  society,  of  that   force, 


406  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

that,  if  a  person  have  them,  he  or  she  must  be  considered,  and 
is  everywhere  welcome,  though  without  beauty,  or  wealth,  or 
genius.  Give  a  boy  address  and  accomplishments,  and  you 
give  him  the  mastery  of  palaces  and  fortunes  where  he  goes. 
He  has  not  the  trouble  of  earning  or  owning  them;  they  solicit 
him  to  enter  and  possess.  We  send  girls  of  a  timid,  retreating 
disposition  to  the  boarding-school,  to  the  riding-school,  to  the 
ball-room,  or  wheresoever  they  can  come  into  acquaintance 
and  nearness  of  leading  persons  of  their  own  sex  ;  where  they 
might  learn  address,  and  see  it  near  at  hand.  The  power  of  a 
woman  of  fashion  to  lead,  and  also  to  daunt  and  repel,  derives 
from  their  belief  that  she  knows  resources  and  behaviors  not 
known  to  them  ;  but  when  these  have  mastered  her  secret, 
they  learn  to  confront  her,  and  recover  their  self-possession. 

Every  day  bears  witness  to  their  gentle  rule.  People  who 
would  obtrude,  now  do  not  obtrude.  The  mediocre  circle  learns 
to  demand  that  which  belongs  to  a  high  state  of  nature  or  of 
culture.  Your  manners  are  always  under  examination,  and  by 
committees  little  suspected, —  a  police  in  citizens'  clothes,  — 

Vbut  are  awarding  or  denying  you  very  high  prizes  when  you 
least  think  of  it. 
We  talk  much  of  utilities,  —  but  't  is  our  manners  that  as 
sociate  us.  In  hours  of  business,  we  go  to  him  who  knows,  or 
has,  or  does  this  or  that  which  we  want,  and  we  do  not  let  our 
taste  or  feeling  stand  in  the  way.  But  this  activity  over,  we 
return  to  the  indolent  state,  and  wish  for  those  we  can  be  at 
ease  with  ;  those  who  will  go  where  we  go,  whose  manners  do 
not  offend  us,  whose  social  tone  chimes  with  ours.  When  we 
reflect  on  their  persuasive  and  cheering  force  ;  how  they  recom 
mend,  prepare,  and  draw  people  together ;  how,  in  all  clubs, 
manners  make  the  members  ;  how  manners  make  the  fortune 
of  the  ambitious  youth  ;  thai;,  for  the  most  part,  his  manners 
marry  him,  and,  for  the  most  part,  he  marries  manners  ;  when 
we  think  what  keys  they  are,  and  to  what  secrets  ;  what  high 
lessons  and  inspiring  tokens  of  character  they  convey ;  and 
what  divination  is  required  in  us,  for  the  reading  of  this  fine 
'  telegraph,  we  see  what  range  the  subject  has,  and  what  rela 
tions  to  convenience,  power,  and  beauty.  'S 

Their  first  service  is  very  low,  —  when  they  are  the  minor 
morals  :  but  't  is  the  beginning  of  civility,  —  to  make  us,  I 
mean,  endurable  to  each  other.  We  prize  them  for  their  rough- 
plastic,  abstergent  force  ;  to  get  people  out  of  the  quadruped 
state ;  to  get  them  washed,  clothed,  and  set  up  on  end ;  to 


BEHAVIOR.  407 

slough  their  animal  husks  and  habits;  compel  them  to  be 
clean  ;  overawe  their  spite  and  meanness,  teaeh  them  to  stifle 
the  base,  juul  choose  the  generous  expression,  and  make  them 
know  how  much  happier  the  generous  behaviors  are. 

Had  behavior  the  laws  cannot  reach.  Society  is  infested 
with  rude,  cynical,  restless,  and  frivolous  persons  who  prey 
upon  the  rest,  and  whom,  a  public  opinion  concentrated  into 
good  manners, — forms  accepted  by  the  sense  of  all,  —  can 
reach:  —  the  contradictors  and  railers  at  public  and  private 
tallies,  who  are  like  terriers,  who  conceive  it  the  duty  of  a  dog 
of  honor  to  growl  at  any  passer-by,  and  do  the  honors  of  the 
house  by  barking  him  out  of  sight  :  —  I  have  seen  men 
wh->  neigh  like  a  horse  when  you  contradict  them,  or  say  some 
thing  which  they  do  not  understand  :  —  then  the  overbold,  who 
make  their  own  invitation  to  your  hearth  ;  the  persevering 
talker,  who  gives  you  his  society  in  large,  saturating  doses; 
the  pitiers  of  themselves, — a  perilous  class;  the  frivolous 
Asmodeus,  who  relies  on  you  to  find  him  in  ropes  of  sand  to 
twist ;  the  monotones;  in  short,  every  stripe  of  absurdity  ;  — 
these  are  social  inflictions  which  the  magistrate  cannot  cure 
or  defend  you  from,  and  which  must  be  intrusted  to  the  re 
straining  force  of  custom,  and  proverbs,  and  familiar  rules  of 
behavior  impressed  on  young  people  in  their  school-days. 

In  the  hotels  on  the  hanks  of  the  Mississippi,  they  print,  or 
used  to  print,  among  the  rules  of  the  house,  that  "  no  gentle 
man  can  be  permitted  to  come  to  the  public  table  without  his 
coat  "  ;  and  in  the  same  country,  in  the  pews  of  the  churches, 
little  placards  plead  with  the  worshipper  against  the  fury  of 
expectoration.  Charles  Dickens  self-sacrincingly  undertook 
the  reformation  of  our  American  manners  in  unspeakable  par 
ticulars.  1  think  the  lesson  was  not  <juito  lost  ;  that  it  held 
bad  manners  up,  so  that  the  churls  could  see  the  deformity. 
I'nhappily.  the-  book  had  its  own  deformities.  It  ought  not  to 
need  to  print  in  a  reading-room  a  caution  to  strangers  not  to 
speak  loud  ;  nor  to  persons  who  look  over  fine  en -ravines,  that 
may  should  be  handled  like  cobwebs  and  butterflies'  wind's  ; 
nor  to  persons  who  look  at  marble  statues,  that  they  shall  not 
smite  them  with  canes.  But.  even  in  the  perfect  civili/ation 
of  this  city,  such  cautions  are  not  quite  needless  in  the  Athe- 
n.eum  and  City  Library. 

Manners  are  factitious,  and  irrow  out  of  circumstance  as  well 
as  out  of  character.  If  you  look  at  the  pictures  of  patricians 
and  of  peasants,  of  different  periods  and  countries,  you  will  see 


408  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

how  well  they  match  the  same  classes  in  our  towns.  The 
modern  aristocrat  not  only  is  well  drawn  in  Titian's  Venetian 
doges,  and  in  Roman  coins  and  statues,  but  also  in  the  pictures 
which  Commodore  Perry  brought  home  of  dignitaries  in  Japan. 
Broad  lands  and  great  interests  not  only  arrive  to  such  heads 
as  can  manage  them,  but  form  manners  of  power.  A  keen  eye, 
too,  will  see  nice  gradations  of  rank,  or  see  in  the  manners  the 
degree  of  homage  the  party  is  wont  to  receive.  A  prince  who 
is  accustomed  every  day  to  be  courted  and  deferred  to  by  the 
highest  grandees,  acquires  a  corresponding  expectation,  and  a 
becoming  mode  of  receiving  and  replying  to  this  homage. 

There  are  always  exceptional  people  and  modes.  English 
grandees  affect  to  be  farmers.  Claverhouse  is  a  fop,  and,  under 
the  finish  of  dress,  and  levity  of  behavior,  hides  the  terror  of 
his  war.  But  nature  and  Destiny  are  honest,  and  never  fail  to 
leave  their  mark,  to  hang  out  a  sign  for  each  and  for  every 
quality.  It  is  much  to  conquer  one's  face,  and  perhaps  the 
ambitious  youth  thinks  he  has  got  the  whole  secret  when  he 
has  learned,  that  disengaged  manners  are  commanding.  Don't 
be  deceived  by  a  facile  exterior.  Tender  men  sometimes  have 
strong  wills.  We  had,  in  Massachusetts,  an  old  statesman, 
who  had  sat  all  his  life  in  courts  and  in  chairs  of  state,  without 
overcoming  an  extreme  irritability  of  face,  voice,  and  bearing  : 
when  he  spoke,  his  voice  would  not  serve  him  ;  it  cracked,  it 
broke,  it  wheezed,  it  piped  ;  little  cared  he  ;  he  knew  that  it 
had  got  to  pipe,  or  wheeze,  or  screech  his  argument  and  his 
indignation.  When  he  sat  down,  after  speaking,  he  seemed  in 
a  sort  of  fit,  and  held  on  to  his  chair  with  both  hands  :  but 
underneath  all  this  irritability  was  a  puissant  will,  firm,  and 
advancing,  and  a  memory  in  which  lay  in  order  and  method 
like  geologic  strata  every  fact  of  his  history,  and  under  the 
control  of  his  will. 

Manners  are  partly  factitious,  but,  mainly,  there  must  be 
capacity  for  culture  in  the  blood.  Else  all  culture  is  vain. 
The  obstinate  prejudice  in  favor  of  blood,  which  lies  at  the  base 
of  the  feudal  and  monarchical  fabrics  of  the  Old  World,  has  some 
reason  in  common  experience.  Every  man — mathematician, 
artist,  soldier,  or  merchant  —  looks  with  confidence  for  some 
traits  and  talents  in  his  own  child,  which  he  would  not  dare  to 
presume  in  the  child  of  a  stranger.  The  Orientalists  are  very 
orthodox  on  this  point.  "  Take  a  thorn-bush,"  said  the  emir 
Abdel-Kader,  "  and  sprinkle  it  for  a  whole  year  with  water  ; 
it  will  yield  nothing  but  thorns.  Take  a  date-tree,  leave  it 


BEHAVIOR.  409 

without  culture,  and  it  will  always  produce  dates.     Nobility  is 

the  date  tn-c    uii'l  the  Aral,  populace  is  a  liusli  of  thorns." 
A  main  tart  in  the  history  of  manners  is  the    wonderful   CX- 
.eiiess  of  the  hnniaii  body.      If  it  were    made  of  -'lass,  or 

of  air,  Mid  the  thought*  were  written  on  steel  tablets  within, 
it  could  not  publish  more  truly  its  meaning  than  now.  Wise 
men  read  very  sharply  all  your  private  history  in  your  look 
and  gait  and  behavior.  The  whole  economy  of  natmv  is  bent 
on  expression.  The  tell-tale  body  is  all  tongues.  Men  are 
like  (Jeneva  watches  with  crystal  faces  which  expose  the  whole 
movement.  They  carry  the  liquor  of  life  flowing  up  and  down 
in  these  beautiful  bottles,  and  announcing  to  the  curious  how- 
it  is  with  them.  The  face  and  eyes  reveal  what  the  spirit  is 
doing,  how  old  it  is,  what  aims  it  has.  The  eyes  indicate  the 
antiojiity  of  the  soiiL^r^  through  how  many  forms  it  ha*  al- 
rea3jas^endejj._  It  almost  violates  the  proprieties,  if  we  say 
above  Fnebreath  here,  what  the  confessing  eyes  do  not  hesitate 
to  utter  to  every  street  passenger. 

Man  cannot  fix  his  eye  on  the  sun,  and  so  far  seems  imper 
fect.  In  Siberia,  a  late  traveller  found  men  who  could  see  the 
satellites  of  Jupiter  with  their  unarmed  eye.  In  some  respects 
the  animals  excel  us.  The  birds  have  a  longer  sight,  beside 
the  advantage  by  their  winics  of  a  higher  observatory.  A  cow 
can  bid  her  calf,  by  secret  signal,  probably  of  the  eye,  to  run 
away,  or  to  lie  down  and  hide  itself.  The  jockeys  say  of  certain 
I,  that  "they  look  over  the  whole  ground."  The  out 
door  life,  and  hunting,  and  labor,  givec'|nal  rigor  to  the  human 
Bye,  A  farmer  looks  out  at  you  as  strong  as  the  horse  ;  his 
eve  beam  is  like  the  stroke  of  a  staff.  An  eye  can  threaten 
like  a  loaded  and  levelled  gnu,  or  can  insult  like  hissing  or 
kicking  ;  or,  in  its  altered  mood,  by  beams  of  kindness,  it  can 
make  the  heart  dance  with  joy. 

The  eye  obeys  exactly  the  action  of  the  mind.  When  a 
thought  strikes  us,  the  eyes  fix,  and  remain  ga/ing  at  a  dis 
tance  ;  in  enumerating  the  names  of  persons  or  of  countries, 
as  France,  (lermany,  Spain,  Turkey,  the  eyes  wink  at 
new  name.  There  is  no  nicety  of  learning  sought  by  the 
mind,  which  ti,  I  •  not  vie  in  acquiring.  "An  Artist," 

•aid  Michel  Angelo,  "must  hare  his  measuring  tools  not  in  the 
haiH.  but  iii  M:  and  there  is  no  end  to  the  catalogue 

of  its  performances,  whether  in  indolent  vision,  (that  of  health 
and  beauty,)  01  in  strained  vision,  (that  of  art  and  labor.) 

lives  are   bold  as    lions, — roving,   running,    leaping, 

VOL.    II.  13 


410  CONDUCT    OF   LIFE. 

and  there,  far  and  near.     They  speak  all  languages.     They 
wait  for  no  introduction  ;  they   are  no   Englishmen  ;  ask  no 
leave  of  age  or  rank  •  they  respect  neither  poverty  nor  riches, 
neither  learning  nor  power,  nor  virtue,  nor  sex,  but  intrude, 
and   come  again,  and  go  through  and  through  you,  in  a  mo 
ment  of  time.     What  inundation  of  life  and  thought  is  dis 
charged  from  one   soul    into    another,  through   them  !     The 
glance  is    natural   magic.       The    mysterious    communication 
established  across  a  house  between  two  entire  strangers,  moves 
all  the  springs  of  wonder.     The  communication  by  the  glance 
is  hi  the  greatest  part  not  subject  to  the  control  of  the  will. 
It  is  the  bodily  symbol  of  identity  of  nature.     We  look  into 
the  eyes  to  know  if  this  other  form  is  another  self,  and  the 
eyes  will  not  lie,  but  make   a  faithful  confession  what  inhab 
itant  is  there.     The  revelations  are  sometimes  terrific, 
confession  of  a  low,  usurping  devil  is  there  made,  and  the  ob 
server   shall  seem  to  feel  the   stirring  of  owls,  and  bats,  and 
horned  hoofs,  where  he  looked  for  innocence  and  simplicity. 
T  is  remarkable,  too,  that  the  spirit  that  appears  at  the  win 
dows  of  the  house  does  at  once  invest  himself  in  a  new  form 
of  his  own,  to  the  mind  of  the  beholder. 

The  eyes  of  men  converse  as  much  as  their  tongues,  with 
the  advantage,  that  the  ocular  dialect  needs  no  dictionary,  but 
is  understood  all  the  world  over.     When  the   eyes  say  one 
thin",  and  the  tongue   another,  a  practised  man  relies  on  the 
lano-uage  of  the  first.     If  the  man  is  off  his  centre,  the  eyes 
show  it      You  can  read  in  the  eyes  of  your  companion,  wheth 
er  your  argument  hits  him,  though  his  tongue  will  not  confess 
it      There  is  a  look  by  which   a  man  shows  he  is  going  to  say 
a  good  thin-,  and  a  look  when  he  has  said  it.     Vain  and  for 
gotten  are  all  the  fine  offers  and  offices  of  hospitality,  if  there 
is  no   holiday  in  the   eye.       How   many  furtive  inclinations 
avowed  by  the  eye,  though  dissembled  by  the   lips  . 
comes  awav  from  "a  company,  in  which,  it  may  easily  happen, 
he   has  said    nothing,   and   no   important   remark    has    been 
addressed  to  him,  and  yet,  if  in  sympathy  with  the  society, 
he  shall  not  have  a  sense  of  this  fact,  such  a  stream  of  1 
has  been  flowing  into  him,  and  out  from  him,  through  the 
eves.      There  are  eves,  to  be  sure,  that  give  no  more  admis 
sion   into  the  man"  than  blueberries.     Others  are  liquid  and 
deep, —  wells   that   a   man   might   fall    into  ;  — others    are 
aggressive  and  devouring,  seem  to   call  out  the  police,  take 
all  too  much  notice,   and  require  crowded   Broadways,   and 


BEHAVIOR.  4  1 1 

the  security  of  millions,  to  protect  individuals  against  tin-in. 
The  military  eve  1  meet,  now  darkly  sparkling  under  eln-j- 
cal,  now  under  rustic  brows.  "V  is  the  city  of  Laccdjemon  ; 
'tis  a  stack  of  bayonets.  There  are  asking  eyes,  asserting 
prowling  eyes;  and  eyes  full  of  fate,  —  some  of  good, 
and  some  of  sinister  omen.  The  alleged  power  to  charm 
down  insanity,  or  ferocity  in  beasts,  is  a  power  behind  the 
eye.  It  must  he  a  victory  achieved  in  the  will,  before  it  can 
be  signified  in  the  eye.  'T  is  very  certain  that  each  man 
carries  in  his  eye  the  exact  indication  of  his  rank  in  the 
immen.se  scale  of  men,  and  we  are  always  learning  to  read 
it.  A  complete  man  should  need  no  auxiliaries  to  his  per 
sonal  presence.  Whoever  looked  on  him  would  consent  to 
his  will,  being  certitied  that  his  aims  were  generous  and 
universal.  The  reason  why  men  do  not  obey  us,  is  because 
they  see  the  mud  at  the  bottom  of  our  eye. 

If  the  organ  of  sight  is  such  a  vehicle  of  power,  the  other 
features  have  their  own.  A  man  finds  room  in  the  few  square 
inches  of  the  face  for  the  traits  of  all  his  ancestors  ;  for  the 
expression  of  all  his  history,  and  his  wants.  The  sculptor,  and 
Winckelmann,  and  Lavater,  will  tell  you  how  significant  a  fea 
ture  is  the  nose  ;  how  its  forms  express  strength  or  weakness 
of  will,  and  good  or  bad  temper.  The  nose  of  Julius  < 
of  Dante,  and  of  Pitt  suggest  "the  terrors  of  the  beak." 
What  refinement,  and  what  limitations,  the  teeth  betray ! 
"  Beware  you  don't  laugh,"  said  the  wise  mother,  "  for  then 
you  show  all  your  faults.'' 

Balzac  left  in  manuscript  a  chapter,  which  he  called  "  The- 
orie  de  la  demarche"  in  which  he  says  :  "  The  look,  the  voice, 
the  respiration,  and  the  attitude  or  walk,  are  identical.  But, 
as  it  has  not  been  given  to  man,  the  power  to  stand  guard,  at 
once  over  these  four  different  simultaneous  expressions  of  his 
thought,  watch  that  one  which  speaks  out  the  truth,  and  you 
will  know  the  whole  man." 

Palaces  interest  us  mainly  in  the  exhibition  of  manners, 
which  in  the  idle  and  expensive  society  dwelling  in  them  arc 
raised  to  a  high  art.  The  maxim  of  courts  is  that  manner  is 
power.  A  calm  and  resolute  bearing,  a  polished  speech,  an 
embellishment  of  trifles,  and  the  art  of  hiding  all  uncoml'oria- 
ble  feeling,  are  essential  to  the  courtier;  and  Saint  Simon,  and 
Cardinal  de  Ketz,  and  llccdcrer,  and  an  encyclopiedia  of  Me- 
moires,  will  instruct  you,  if  you  wish,  in  those  potent  secrets. 
Thus,  it  is  a  point  of  pride  with  kings,  to  remember  faces  and 


412  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

names.  It  is  reported  of  one  prince,  that  his  head  had  the 
air  of  leaning  downwards,  in  order  not  to  humble  the  crowd. 
There  are  people  who  come  in  ever  like  a  child  with  a  piece  of 
good  news.  It  was  said  of  the  late  Lord  Holland,  that  he 
always  came  down  to  breakfast  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had 
just  met  with  some  signal  good-fortune.  In  "  Notre  Dame"  the 
grandee  took  his  place  on  the  dais,  with  the  look  of  one  who 
is  thinking  of  something  else.  But  we  must  not  peep  and 
eavesdrop  at  palace-doors. 

Fine  manners  need  the  support  of  fine  manners  in  others. 
A  scholar  may  be  a  well-bred  man,  or  he  may  not.  The  en 
thusiast  is  introduced  to  polished  scholars  in  society,  and  is 
chilled  and  silenced  by  finding  himself  not  in  their  element. 
They  all  have  somewhat  which  he  has  not,  and,  it  seems,  ought 
to  have.  But  if  he  finds  the  scholar  apart  from  his  compan 
ions,  it  is  then  the  enthusiast's  turn,  and  the  scholar  has  no 
defence,  but  must  deal  on  his  terms.  Now  they  must  fight 
the  battle  out  on  their  private  strengths.  What  is  the  talent 
of  that  character  so  common,  —  the  successful  man  of  the 
world,  —  in  all  marts,  senates,  and  drawing-rooms  1  Manners  : 
manners  of  power ;  sense  to  see  his  advantage,  and  manners 
up  to  it.  See  him  approach  his  man.  He  knows  that  troops 
behave  as  they  are  handled  at  first; — that  is  his  cheap  secret; 
just  what  happens  to  every  two  persons  who  meet  on  any  af 
fair,  one  instantly  perceives  that  he  has  the  key  of  the  situa 
tion,  that  his  will  comprehends  the  other's  will,  as  the  cat 
does  the  mouse ;  and  he  has  only  to  use  courtesy,  and  furnish 
good-natured  reasons  to  his  victim  to  cover  up  the  chain;  lest 
he  be  shamed  into  resistance. 

The  theatre  in  which  this  science  of  manners  has  a  formal 
importance  is  not  with  us  a  court,  but  dress-circles,  wherein, 
after  the  close  of  the  day's  business,  men  and  women  meet  at 
leisure,  for  mutual  entertainment,  in  ornamented  drawing- 
rooms.  Of  course,  it  has  every  variety  of  attraction  and  merit : 
but,  to  earnest  persons,  to  youths  or  maidens  who  have  great 
objects  at  heart,  we  cannot  extol  it  highly.  A  well-dressed, 
talkative  company,  where  each  is  bent  to  amuse  the  other,  — 
yet  the  high-born  Turk  who  came  hither  fancied  that  every 
woman  seemed  to  be  suffering  for  a  chair ;  that  all  the  talkers 
were  brained  and  exhausted  by  the  deoxygenated  air :  it 
spoiled  the  best  persons  :  it  put  all  on  stilts.  Yet  here  are 
the  secret  biographies  written  and  read.  The  aspect  of  that 
man  is  repulsive  ;  I  do  not  wish  to  deal  with  him.  The  other 


BEHAVIOR.  413 

is  irritable,  shy,  and  on  his  guard.  The  youth  looks  humble 
and  manly:  l"  ch"<»e  him.  Look  on  this  woman.  There  is 
not  beauty,  nor  brilliai/  I  |n.\vcr  to 

serve  vmi  ;  but  all  see  her  gladly  ;  her  whole  air  and  ii: 
sion  are  healthful.     Here  come  the  sentimentalists,  and  the 
inval:  is  Elise,  who  caught  eold  in  coining  into  the 

world,   and  has  always   increased  it  since.     Here  are  « 
manners  :  and  thievish  manners.     "Look  at  N«rtl. 
said  Fuscli ;  ''he  looks  like  a  rat  that  has  seen  a  cat."     In  the 
shallow  company,  easily  excited,  easily  tired,  here  is  the  col 
umnar  Bernard  :  the   Alleghanies  do  not  express  more  repose 
than    his  behavior.     Here  are  the   sweet   following  eyes  of 
Cecile  :  it  seemed  always  that  >he  demanded  the  heart, 
ing  can  be  more  excellent  in  kind  than  the  Corinthian  grace 
of  Gertrude's  manners,  and  yet  Blanche,  who  has  no  manners, 
has  better  manners  than  she  ;  for  +he  movements  of  Blanche 
are  the  sallies  of  a  spirit  which  is  sufficient  for  the  moment, 
and  she  can  afford  to  express  even-  thought  by  instant  I 

Manners  have  been  somewhat  cynically  defined  to  be  a  con 
trivance  of  wise  men  to  keep  fools  at  a  distance.  Fashion  is 
shrewd  to  detect  those  who  do  not  belong  to  her  train,  and 
seldom  wastes  her  attentions.  Society  is  very  swift  in  its  in 
stincts,  and,  if  you  do  not  belong  to  it,  resists  and  sneers  at 
you  ;  or  quietly  drops  you.  The  first  weapon  enrages  the 
party  attacked  :  the  second  is  still  more  effective,  but  is  not 
to  be  resisted,  as  the  date  of  the  transaction  is  not 
found.  People  grow  up  and  grow  old  under  this  infliction,  and 
never  suspect  the  truth,  ascribing  the  solitude  which  acts  on 
them  very  injuriously  to  any  cause  but  the  right  one. 

The  basis  of  good  manners  is  self-reliance.  Necessity  is  the 
law  of  all  who  are  not  self-possessed.  Those  who  are  not  self- 
possessed  obtrude  and  pain  us.  Some  men  appear  to  feel  that 
they  belong  to  a  Pariah  caste.  They  fear  to  offend,  they  bend 
and  apologize,  and  walk  through  life  with  a  timid  step, 
sometimes  dream  that  we  are  in  a  well-dressed  company  with 
out  a  ^  mo  Godfrey  acts  ever  as  if  he  suffered  from  some 
mortifying  circumstance.  The  hero  should  find  himself  at 
home,  wherever  he  is  ;  should  impart  comfort  by  his  own  se 
curity  and  good-nature  to  all  beholders.  The  hero  is  suffered 
to  be  himself.  A  person  of  strong  mind  comes  to  pt ••• 
that  for  him  an  immunity  is  secured  so  long  as  he  renders  to 
society  that  service  which  is  native  and  proper  to  him,  — an 
immunity  from  all  the  observances,  yea,  and  duties,  which  so- 


414  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

ciety  so  tyrannically  imposes  on  the  rank  and  file  of  its  mem 
bers.  "Euripides,"  says  Aspasia,  "has  not  the  fine  manners 
of  Sophocles  :  but,"  she  adds  good-humoredly,  "  the  movers  and 
masters  of  our  souls  have  surely  a  right  to  throw  out  their 
limbs  as  carelessly  as  they  please,  on  the  world  that  belongs  to 
them,  and  before  the  creatures  they  have  animated."1* 

Manners  require  time,  as  nothing  is  more  vulgar  than  haste. 
Friendship  should  be  surrounded  with  ceremonies  and  respects, 
and  not  crushed  into  corners.  Friendship  requires  more  time 
than  poor  busy  men  can  usually  command.  Here  comes  to  me 
Roland,  with  a  delicacy  of  sentiment  leading  and  inwrapping 
him  like  a  divine  cloud  or  holy  ghost.  'T  is  a  great  destitution 
to  both  that  this  should  not  be  entertained  with  large  leis 
ures,  but  contrariwise  should  be  balked  by  importunate  affairs. 

But  through  this  lustrous  varnish,  the  reality  is  ever  shin 
ing.  'T  is  hard  to  keep  the  what  from  breaking  through  this 
pretty  painting  of  the  liow.  The  core  will  come  to  the  sur 
face.  Strong  will  and  keen  perception  overpower  old  manners, 
and  create  new ;  and  the  thought  of  the  present  moment  has 
a  greater  value  than  all  the  past.  In  persons  of  character,  we 
do  not  remark  manners,  because  of  their  instantaneousness. 
We  are  surprised  by  the  thing  done,  out  of  all  power  to  watch 
the  way  of  it.  Yet  nothing  is  more  charming  than  to  recog 
nize  the  great  style  which  runs  through  the  actions  of  such. 
People  masquerade  before  us  in  their  fortunes,  titles,  offices, 
and  connections,  as  academic  or  civil  presidents,  or  senators, 
or  professors,  or  great  lawyers,  and  impose  on  the  frivolous, 
and  a  good  deal  on  each  other,  by  these  fames.  At  least,  it  is 
a  point  of  prudent  good  manners  to  treat  these  reputations 
tenderly,  as  if  they  were  merited.  But  the  sad  realist  knows 
these  fellows  at  a  glance,  and  they  know  him ;  as  when  in 
Paris  the  chief  of  the  police  enters  a  ball-room,  so  many  dia 
monded  pretenders  shrink  and  make  themselves  as  inconspicu 
ous  as  they  can,  or  give  him  a  supplicating  look  as  they  pass. 
"  I  had  received,"  said  a  sib}7!,  —  "I  had  received  at  birth  the 
fatal  gift  of  penetration  " ;  and  these  Cassandras  are  always  born. 

Manners  impress  as  they  indicate  real  power.  A  man  who 
is  sure  of  his  point,  carries  a  broad  and  contented  expression, 
which  everybody  reads.  And  you  cannot  rightly  train  one  to 
an  air  and  manner,  except  by  making  him  the  kind  of  man  of 
whom  that  manner  is  the  natural  expression.  Nature  forever 
puts  a  premium  on  reality.  What  is  done  for  effect,  is  seen 

*  Landor,  Pericles  and  Aspasia. 


BEHAVIOR.  415 

to  be  done  for  effect  ;  what  is  done  for  love,  is  felt  to  be  done 
for  love.  A  man  inspires  allectinn  and  honor,  Uvaiisr  he  \vas 
B0t  lying  in  wait  for  these.  The  things  of  a  man  tor  which 
we  visit  him,  were  done  in  the  dark  ami  the  cold.  A  little  in 
tegrity  is  better  than  any  career.  So  deep  are  the  sources  of 
this  surface-action,  that  even  the  size  of  your  companion  seems 
to  vary  with  his  treed.. in  of  thought.  Not  only  is  he  lar^-r, 
when  at  ease,  and  his  thoughts  generous,  but  everything 
around  him  becomes  variable  with  expression.  No  carpenter's 
rule,  no  rod  and  chain,  will  measure  the  dimensions  of  any 
house  or  house-lot  :  go  into  the  house  :  if  the  proprietor  is 
constrained  and  deterring,  't  is  of  no  importance  how  large  his 
house,  how  l>eautiful  his  grounds,  —  you  quickly  come  to  the 
end  of  all  :  but  if  the  man  is  self-possessed,  happy,  and  at 
home,  his  house  is  deep-founded,  indefinitely  lar-e  and  interest 
ing,  the  roof  and  dome  buoyant  as  the  sky.  I'nder  the  hum 
blest,  roof,  the  commonest  person  in  plain  clothes  sits  there 
massive,  cheerful,  yet  formidable  like  the  Egyptian  colossi. 

Neither  Aristotle,  nor  Leibnitz,  nor  Junius,  nor  Champollion 
has  set  down  the  grammar-rules  of  this  dialect,  older  than 
SaiiM-rit  :  but  they  who  cannot  yet  read  English,  can  read  this. 
Men  take  each  other's  measure,  when  they  meet  for  the  first 
time,  —  and  every  time  they  meet.  How  do  they  get  this 
rapid  knowledge,  even  before  they  speak,  of  each  other's  pow 
er  and  dispositions  1  One  would  say,  that  the  persuasion  of 
their  speech  is  not  in  what  they  say,  —  or,  that  men  do  not 
convince  by  their  argument,  —  but  by  their  personality,  by 
who  they  are,  and  what  they  said  and  did  heretofore.  A  man 
already  strong  is  listened  to,  and  everything  he  says  is  ap 
plauded.  Another  opposes  him  with  sound  argument,  but  the 
argument  is  scouted,  until  by  and  by  it  gets  into  the  mind 
of  some  weighty  person  ;  then  it  begins  to  tell  on  the  com 
munity. 

Self-reliance  is  the  basis  of  behavior,  as  it  is  the  guaranty 
that  the  powers  are  not  squandered  in  too  much  demonstra 
tion.  In  this  country,  where  school  education  is  universal, 
we  have  a  superficial  culture,  and  a  profusion  of  reading  and 
writing  and  expression.  We  parade  our  nobilities  in  poems 
and  orations,  instead  of  working  them  up  into  happiness. 
There  is  a  whisper  out  of  the  ages  to  him  who  can  understand 
it,  —  'whatever  is  known  to  thyself  alone  has  always  very 
great  value.'  There  is  some  reason  to  believe,  that,  when  a 
man  does  not  write  his  poetry,  it  escapes  by  other  vents 


416  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

through  him,  instead  of  the  one  vent  of  writing;  clings  to 
his  form  and  manners,  whilst  poets  have  often  nothing  poetical 
about  them  except  their  verses.  Jacobi  said,  that  "  when  a 
man  has  fully  expressed  his  thought,  he  has  somewhat  less 
possession  of  it."  One  would  say,  the  rule  is,  — What  a  man 
is  irresistibly  urged  to  say,  helps  him  and  us.  In  explaining 
his  thought  to  others,  he  explains  it  to  himself :  but  when  he 
opens  it  for  show,  it  corrupts  him. 

Society  is  the  stage  on  which  manners  are  shown ;  novels 
are  their  literature.  Novels  are  the  journal  or  record  of  man 
ners  ;  and  the  new  importance  of  these  books  derives  from  the 
fact,  that  the  novelist  begins  to  penetrate  the  surface,  and  treat 
this  part  of  life  more  worthily.  The  novels  used  to  be  all 
alike,  and  had  a  quite  vulgar  tone.  The  novels  used  to  lead 
us  on  to  a  foolish  interest  in  the  fortunes  of  the  boy  and  girl 
they  described.  The  boy  was  to  be  raised  from  a  humble  to  a 
high  position.  He  was  in  want  of  a  wife  and  a  castle,  and  the 
object  of  the  story  was  to  supply  him  with  one  or  both. 
We  watched  sympathetically,  step  by  step,  his  climbing,  until, 
at  last,  the  point  is  gained,  the  wedding-day  is  fixed,  and  we 
follow  the  gala  procession  home  to  the  bannered  portal,  when 
the  doors  are  slammed  in  our  face,  and  the  poor  reader  is  left 
outside  in  the  cold,  not  enriched  by  so  much  as  an  idea,  or  a 
virtuous  impulse. 

But  the  victories  of  character  are  instant,  and  victories  for 
all.  Its  greatness  enlarges  all.  We  are  fortified  by  every 
heroic  anecdote.  The  novels  are  as  useful  as  Bibles,  if  they 
teach  you  the  secret,  that  the  best  of  life  is  conversation,  and 
the  greatest  success  is  confidence,  or  perfect  understanding  be 
tween  sincere  people.  'T  is  a  French  definition  of  friendship, 
rien  que  ^entendre,  good  understanding.  The  highest  compact 
we  can  make  with  our  fellow,  is,  —  *  Let  there  be  truth  be 
tween  us  two  forevermore.'  That  is  the  charm  in  all  good 
novels,  as  it  is  the  charm  in  all  good  histories,  that  the  heroes 
mutually  understand,  from  the  first,  and  deal  loyally,  and  with 
a  profound  trust  in  each  other.  It  is  sublime  to  feel  and  say 
of  another,  I  need  never  meet,  or  speak,  or  write  to  him  :  we 
need  not  reinforce  ourselves,  or  send  tokens  of  remembrance  : 
I  rely  on  him  as  on  myself:  if  he  did  thus  or  thus,  I  know  it 
was  right. 

In  all  the  superior  people  I  have  met,  I  notice  directness, 
truth  spoken  more  truly,  as  if  everything  of  obstruction  of 
malformation,  had  been  trained  away.  What  have  they  to 


BEHAVIOR.  417 

conceal?  What  have  they  to  exhibit?  Between  simple  and 
noble  persons,  there  is  always  a  quick  intelligence  :  they  rec- 
ogni/e  at  sight,  and  meet  on  a  better  ground  than  the  talents 
and  skills  they  may  chance  to  possess,  namely,  on  sincerity 
and  uprightness.  For,  it  is  not  what  talents  or  genius  a  man 
has,  but  how  he  is  to  his  talents,  that  constitutes  friendship 
and  character.  The  man  that  stands  by  himself,  the  uni 
stands  bv  him  also.  It  is  related  of  the  monk  Basle,  tha<, 
being  excommunicated  by  the  1'ope,  he  was,  at  his  death,  sent 
in  charge  of  an  angel  to  find  a  tit  place  of  suffering  in  hell  ; 
but.  sii.-h  was  the  eloquence  and  good-humor  of  the  monk, 
that,  wherever  he  went  he  was  received  gladly,  and  civilly 
tn-ated,  even  by  the  most  uncivil  angels  :  and,  when  he  came 
to  discourse  with  them,  instead  of  contradicting  or  forcing  him, 
they  took  his  part,  and  adopted  his  manners  :  and  even  good 
angels  came  from  far,  to  see  him,  and  take  up  their  abode 
with  him.  The  angel  that  was  sent  to  find  a  place  of  torment 
for  him  attempted  to  remove  him  to  a  worse  pit,  but  with  no 
better  success  ;  for  such  was  the  contented  spirit  of  the  monk, 
that  he  found  something  to  praise  in  every  place  and  company, 
though  in  hell,  and  made  a  kind  of  heaven  of  it.  At  last  the 
escorting  angel  returned  with  his  prisoner  to  them  that  sent 
him,  saying,  that  no  phlegethon  could  be  found  that  would 
burn  him ;  for  that,  in  whatever  condition,  Basle  remained  in 
corrigibly  Basle.  The  legend  says,  his  sentence  was  remitted, 
and  he  was  allowed  to  go  into  heaven,  and  was  canonized  as  a 
saint. 

There  is  a  stroke  of  magnanimity  in  the  correspondence  of 
Bonaparte  with  his  brother  Joseph,  when  the  latter  was  King 
of  Spain,  and  complained  that  he  missed  in  Napoleon's  letters 
the  affectionate  tone  which  had  marked  their  childish  corre 
spondence.  "I  am  sorry,"  replies  Napoleon,  "you  think  you 
shall  find  your  brother  again  only  in  the  Klysian  Fields.  It  is 
natural,  that  at  forty,  he  should  not  feel  toward-  YOU  as  he  did 
at  twelve.  But  his  feelings  towards  you  have  greater  truth 
and  .-tmigth.  His  friendship  has  the  features  of  his  mind." 

Hew  much  we  forgive  in  those  who  yield  us  the  rare  specta 
cle  of  heroic  manners !  We  will  pardon  them  the  want  of 
books,  of  arts,  and  even  of  the  gentler  virtues.  How  tena 
ciously  we  remember  them  !  Here  is  a  lesson  which  I  brought 
along  with  me  in  boyhood  from  the  Latin  School,  and  which 
ranks  with  the  best  of  Roman  anecdotes.  Marcus  Scaurus 
was  accused  by  Quintus  Varius  Hispanus,  that  he  had  excited 

18*  AA 


418  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

the  allies  to  take  arms  against  the  Republic.  But  he,  full  of 
firmness  and  gravity,  defended  himself  in  this  manner  :  "  Quin- 
tus  Varius  Hispanus  alleges  that  Marcus  Scaurus,  President  of 
the  Senate,  excited  the  allies  to  arms  :  Marcus  Scaurus,  Presi 
dent  of  the  Senate,  denies  it.  There  is  no  witness.  Which 
do  you  believe,  Romans  1 "  "  Utri  creditis,  Quirites  ?  "  When 
he  had  said  these  words,  he  was  absolved  by  the  assembly  of 
the  people. 

I  have  seen  manners  that  make  a  similar  impression  with 
personal  beauty  ;  that  give  the  like  exhilaration,  and  refine  us 
like  that ;  and,  in  memorable  experiences,  they  are  suddenly 
better  than  beauty,  and  make  that  superfluous  and  ugly.  But 
they  must  be  marked  by  fine  perception,  the  acquaintance  with 
real  beauty.  They  must  always  show  self-control :  you  shall 
not  be  facile,  apologetic,  or  leaky,  but  king  over  your  word ; 
and  every  gesture  and  action  shall  indicate  power  at  rest. 
Then  they  must  be  inspired  by  the  good  heart.  There  is  no 
beautilicr  of  complexion,  or  form,  or  behavior,  like  the  wish 
to  scatter  joy  and  not  pain  around  us.  'T  is  good  to  give  a 
stranger  a  meal,  or  a  night's  lodging.  'T  is  better  to  be  hospi 
table  to  his  good  meaning  and  thought,  and  give  courage  to  a 
companion.  We  must  be  as  courteous  to  a  man  as  we  are  to 
a  picture,  which  we  are  willing  to  give  the  advantage  of  a  good 
light.  Special  precepts  are  not  to  be  thought  of :  the  talent 
of  well-doing  contains  them  all.  Every  hour  will  show  a  duty 
as  paramount  as  that  of  my  whim  just  now ;  and  yet  I  will 
write  it,  —  that  there  is  one  topic  peremptorily  forbidden  to 
all  well-bred,  to  all  rational  mortals,  namely,  their  distempers. 
If  you  have  not  slept,  or  if  you  have  slept,  or  if  you  have 
headache,  or  sciatica,  or  leprosy,  or  thunder-stroke,  1  beseech 
you,  by  all  angels,  to  hold  your  peace,  and  not  pollute  the 
morning,  to  which  all  the  housemates  bring  serene  and  pleasant 
thoughts,  by  corruption  and  groans.  Come  out  of  the  azure. 
Love  the  day.  Do  not  leave  the  sky  out  of  your  landscape. 
The  oldest  and  the  most  deserving  person  should  come  very 
modestly  into  any  newly  awaked  company,  respecting  the  divine 
communications,  out  of  which  all  must  be  presumed  to  have 
newly  come.  An  old  man  who  added  an  elevating  culture  to 
a  large  experience  of  life,  said  to  me  :  "  When  you  come  into 
the  room,  I  think  I  will  study  how  to  make  humanity  beautiful 
to  you." 

As  respects  the  delicate  question  of  culture,  T  do  not  think 
that  any  other  than  negative  rules  can  be  laid  down.  For 


BEHAVIOR.  419 

positive  rules,  for  suggestion,  Nature  alone  inspires  it.  Who 
dan-  assume  to  guide  a  youth,  a  maid,  to  perfect  manners?  — 
the  golden  mcaii  is  so  delicate,  difficult,  —  say  frankly,  unat 
tainable.  NY  hat  finest  hands  would  not  be  clumsy  to  sketch 
the  genial  precepts  of  the  young  girl's  demeanor  ]  The  chances 
seem  infinite  against  success  ;  and  yet  success  is  continually 
attained.  There  must  not  be  secondariness,  and  'tis  a  thousand 
to  one  that  her  air  and  manner  will  at  once  betray  that  she  is 
not  primary,  but  that  there  is  some  other  one  or  many  of  her 
class,  to  whom  she  habitually  postpones  herself.  But  Nature 
lifts  her  easily,  and  without  knowing  it,  over  these  impossibili 
ties,  and  we  are  continually  surprised  with  graces  and  felicities 
not  only  uuteachable,  but  undescribable. 


VI. 

WORSHIP 


Tli is  is  he,  who,  felled  by  foes, 

Sprung  harmless  up.  refreshed  by  blowi: 

H.-  i<.  captivity  wa-  sold, 

But  him  no  priMD-bm  would  hold: 

Though  they  >ealed  him  in  :i  rock, 

Mountain  chains  he  can  unlock: 

'1  hrown  t<>  lion-  lor  their  moat, 

The  crouching  lion  ki»ed  his  feet: 

Bound  to  the  Stake,  no  flames  appalled, 

But  arched  o'er  him  an  honoring  vault. 

This  is  he  men  miscall  Fate, 

Threading  dark  ways,  arriving  late, 

But  ever  cominp  iiTtime  to  crown 

The  truth,  and  hurl  wrongdoers  down. 

He  is  the  oldest,  and  best  known, 

More  near  than  aught  thou  call'st  thy  own, 

Yet,  greeted  in  another'- 

Di-roncorts  with  glad  «urpri-r. 

Thi-  is  Jove,  who.  deaf  to  prayers, 

Floods  with  blessings  unawares. 

Draw,  if  thou  canst,  the  mystic  line, 

S.-v.-rinjr  rightly  his  from  thine, 

Which  is  human,  which  dirine. 


WORSHIP. 


SOME  of  my  friends  have  complained,  when  the  preceding 
papers  were  read,  that  we  discussed  Fate,  Power,  and 
Wealth,  on  too  low  a  platform;  gave  too  much  line  to  the  evil 
spirit  of  the  times  ;  too  many  cakes  to  Cerberus;  that  we  ran 
Cudworth's  risk  of  making,  by  excess  of  candor,  the  argument 
of  atheism  so  strong,  that  'he  "could  not  answer  it.  1  have  no 
fears  of  being  forced  in  my  own  despite  to  play,  as  we  say,  the 
devil's  attorney.  I  have  no  infirmity  of  faith;  no  belief  that 
it  is  of  much  importance  what  I  or  any  man  may  say  :  I  am 
sure  that  a  certain  truth  will  be  said  through  me,  though  I 
should  be  dumb,  «,r  though  1  should  try  to  say  the  reverse. 
N..r  do  I  fear  scepticism  for  any  good  soul.  A  just  thinker 
will  allow  full  swing  to  his  scepticism.  I  dip  my  pen  in  the 
blackest  ink,  because  I  am  not  afraid  of  falling  into  my  inkpot. 
I  have  no  sympathy  with  a  poor  man  I  knew,  who,  when  sui 
cides  abounded,  told  me  he  dared  not  look  at  his  razor.  We 
are  of  different  opinions  at  different  hours,  but  we  always  may 
be  said  to  be  at  heart  on  the  side  of  truth. 

I  see  not  why  we  should  give  ourselves  such  sanctified  airs. 
If  the  Divine  Providence  has  hid  from  men  neither  disease, 
nor  deformity,  nor  corrupt  society,  but  has  stated  itself  out  in 
passions,  in  war,  in  trade,  in  the  love  of  power  and  pleasure, 
in  hunger  and  need,  in  tyrannies,  literatures,  and  arts,  —  let 
us  not  be  so  nice  that  we  cannot  write  these  facts  down  O 
ly  as  they  stand,  or  doubt  but  there  is  a  counter-statement  as 
ponderous,  which  we  can  arrive  at,  and  which,  being  put,  will 
make  all  square.  The  solar  system  has  no  anxiety  about  its 
reputation,  and  the  credit  of  truth  and  honesty  is  as  safe  ;  nor 
have  !  any  le-ir  that  a  sceptical  bias  can  be  given  by  leaning 
hard  on  the  sides  of  fate,  of  practical  power,  or  of  trade,  which 
the  doctrine  of  Faith  cannot  down-weigh.  The  strength  of 


424  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

that  principle  is  not  measured  in  ounces  and  pounds  ;  it  tyran 
nizes  at  the  centre  of  Nature.  We  may  well  give  scepticism 
as  much  line  as  we  can.  The  spirit  will  return  and  fill  us.  It 
drives  the  drivers.  It  counterbalances  any  accumulations  of 
power. 

"  Heaven  kindly  gave  our  blood  a  moral  flow." 

We  are  born  loyal.  The  whole  creation  is  made  of  hooks  and 
eyes,  of  bitumen,  of  sticking-plaster,  and  whether  your  com 
munity  is  made  in  Jerusalem  or  in  California,  of  saints  or  of 
wreckers,  it  coheres  in  a  perfect  ball.  Men  as  naturally  make 
a  state,  or  a  church,  as  caterpillars  a  web.  If  they  were  more 
refined,  it  would  be  less  formal,  it  would  be  nervous  like  that 
of  the  Shakers,  who,  from  long  habit  of  thinking  and  feeling 
together,  it  is  said,  are  affected  in  the  same  way,  at  the  same 
time,  to  work  and  to  play,  and  as  they  go  with  perfect  sympa 
thy  to  their  tasks  in  the  field  or  shop,  so  are  they  inclined  for 
a  ride  or  a  journey  at  the  same  instant,  and  the  horses  come 
up  with  the  family  carriage  unbespoken  to  the  door. 

We  are  born  believing.  A  man  bears  beliefs,  as  a  tree  bears 
apples.  A  self-poise  belongs  to  every  particle  ;  and  a  rectitude 
to  every  mind,  and  is  the  Nemesis  and  protector  of  every  society. 
I  and  my  neighbors  have  been  bred  in  the  notion,  that,  unless 
we  came  soon  to  some  good  church,  —  Calvinism,  or  Behmen- 
ism,  or  Romanism,  or  Mormonism,  —  there  would  be  a  univer 
sal  thaw  and  dissolution.  No  Isaiah  or  Jeremy  has  arrived. 
Nothing  can  exceed  the  anarchy  that  has  followed  in  our  skies. 
The  stern  old  faiths  have  all  pulverized.  'T  is  a  whole  popu 
lation  of  gentlemen  and  ladies  out  in  search  of  religions.  'T  is 
as  flat  anarchy  in  our  ecclesiastic  realms,  as  that  which  ex 
isted  in  Massachusetts,  in  the  Revolution,  or  which  prevails 
now  on  the  slope  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  or  Pike's  Peak. 
Yet  we  make  shift  to  live.  Men  are  loyal.  Nature  has  self- 
poise  in  all  her  works ;  certain  proportions  in  which  oxygen 
and  azote  combine,  and,  not  less  a  harmony  in  faculties,  a  fit 
ness  in  the  spring  and  the  regulator. 

The  decline  of  the  influence  of  Calvin,  or  Fenelon,  or  Wes 
ley,  or  Channing,  need  give  us  no  uneasiness.  The  builder  of 
heaven  has  not  so  ill  constructed  his  creature  as  that  the  re 
ligion,  that  is,  the  public  nature,  should  fall  out  :  the  public 
and  the  private  element,  like  north  and  south,  like  inside  and 
outside,  like  centrifugal  and  centripetal,  adhere  to  every  soul, 
and  cannot  be  subdued,  except  the  soul  is  dissipated.  God 
builds  his  temple  in  the  heart  on  the  ruins  of  churches  and 
•religions. 


WORSHIP.  425 

In  the  last  chapters,  wo  t routed  some  particulars  of  the 
question  of  culture.  Hut  the  whole  state  of  man  is  a  state  of  ' 
culture  ;  and  its  flowering  and  completion  may  bo  described  ftl 
Religion,  or  "Worship.  There  is  always  some  religion,  some 
hope  and  fear  extended  into  the  invisible,  —  from  the  hlind 
boding  which  nails  a  horseshoe  to  the  mast  or  the  threshold, 
up  to  the  song  of  the  Klders  in  the  Apocalypse.  But  the  re 
ligion  cannot  rise  above  the  state  of  the  votary.  Heaven  al- 
wavs  bears  some  proportion  to  earth.  The  god  of  the  canni 
bals  will  ho  a  cannibal,  of  the  crusaders  a  crusader,  and  of  the 
merchants  a  merchant.  In  all  ages,  souls  out  of  time,  ex-' 
traonlinarv,  prophetic,  are  born,  who  are  rather  related  to  the 
svstmi  of  the  \\orld,  than  to  their  particular  age  and  locality. 
These  announce  absolute  truths,  which,  with  whatever  rever 
ence  received,  are  speedily  dragged  down  into  a  savage  inter 
pretation.  The  interior  tribes  of  our  Indians,  and  some  of 
the  Pacific-Islanders,  flog  their  gods,  when  things  take  an  un 
favorable  turn.  The  Greek  poets  did  not  hesitate  to  let  loose 
their  petulant  wit  on  their  deities  also.  Laomedon,  in  his 
anger  at  Neptune  and  Apollo,  who  had  built  Troy  for  him,  and 
demanded  their  price,  does  not  hesitate  to  menace  them  that 
he  will  cut  their  ears  oft*.*  Among  our  Norse  forefathers,  King 
Olaf's  mode  of  converting  Ky  vind  to  Christianity  was  to  put  a 
pan  of  glowing  coals  on  his  belly,  which  burst  asunder.  "  Wilt 
thou  now,  Ey vind,  believe  in  Christ  1 "  asks  Olaf,  in  excellent 
faith.  Another  argument  was  an  adder  put  into  the  mouth 
of  the  reluctant  disciple  Rand,  who  refused  to  believe. 

Christianity,  in  the  romantic  ages,  signified  European  cul 
ture,  —  the  grafted  or  meliorated  tree  in  a  crab  forest.  And 
to  marry  a  pagan  wife  or  husband  was  to  marry  Beast,  and 
voluntarily  to  take  a  step  backwards  towards  the  baboon. 

"  Hon£ri«t  had  verament, 

A  daughter  Koth  fair  and  pent, 

But  she  was  heathen  Sarazine, 

And  Vortipjern  for  love  fine 

Her  took  to  fere  ;ind  to  wife, 

And  was  cursed  in  all  hi>  life; 

For  he  let  Christian  wed  heathen, 

And  mixed  our  blood  as  flesh  and  mathen."  t 

"What  Gothic  mixtures  the  Christian  creed  drew  from  the  pagan 
sources,  Richard  of  Devizes's  chronicle  of  Richard  I. 's  crusade, 
in  the  twelfth  century,  may  show.  King  Richard  taunts  God 
with  forsaking  him  :  "  0  fie  !  0  how  unwilling  should  I  be  to 

•*  Iliad,  Book  xxi.  1.  455.  t  Moths  or  worms. 


426  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

forsake  thee,  in  so  forlorn  and  dreadful  a  position,  were  I  thy 
lord  and  advocate,  as  thou  art  mine.  In  sooth,  my  standards 
will  in  future  be  despised,  not  through  my  fault,  but  through 
thine  ;  in  sooth,  not  through  any  cowardice  of  my  warfare,  art 
thou  thyself,  my  king  and  my  God,  conquered  this  day,  and 
not  Richard  thy  vassal."  The  religion  of  the  early  English 
poets  is  anomalous,  so  devout  and  so  blasphemous,  in  the  same 
breath.  Such  is  Chaucer's  extraordinary  confusion  of  heaven 
and  earth  in  the  picture  of  Dido. 

"  She  was  so  fair, 

So  young,  so  lusty,  with  her  even  glad, 
That  if  that  God  that  heaven  and  earthe  made 
Would  have  a  love  for  beauty  and  goodness, 
And  womanhede,  truth,  and  seernliness, 
Whom  should  he  loven  but  this  lady  sweet? 
There  n'  is  no  woman  to  him  half  so  meet." 

With  these  grossnesses,  we  complacently  compare  our  own 
taste  and  decorum.  We  think  and  speak  with  more  temper 
ance  and  gradation,  —  but  is  not  indifferentism  as  bad  as 
superstition  1 

We  live  in  a  transition  period,  when  the  old  faiths  which 
comforted  nations,  and  not  only  so,  but  made  nations,  seem  to 
have  spent  their  force.  I  do  not  find  the  religions  of  men  at 
this  moment  very  creditable  to  them,  but  either  childish  and 
insignificant,  or  unmanly  and  effeminating.  The  fatal  trait  is 
the  divorce  between  religion  and  morality.  Here  are  know- 
nothing  religions,  or  churches  that  prescribe  intellect ;  scorta- 
tory  religions  ;  slave-holding  and  slave-trading  religions  ;  and, 
even  in  the  decent  populations,  idolatries  wherein  the  white 
ness  of  the  ritual  covers  scarlet  indulgence.  The  lover  of  the 
old  religion  complains  that  our  contemporaries,  scholars  as  well 
as  merchants,  succumb  to  a  great  despair,  —  have  corrupted 
into  a  timorous  conservatism,  and  believe  in  nothing.  In  our 
large  cities,  the  population  is  godless,  materialized,  —  no  bond, 
no  fellow-feeling,  no  enthusiasm.  These  are  not  men,  but 
hungers,  thirsts,  fevers,  and  appetites  walking.  How  is  it  peo 
ple  manage  to  live  on,  —  so  aimless  as  they  are  ?  After  their 
peppercorn  aims  are  gained,  it  seems  as  if  the  lime  in  their 
bones  alone  held  them  together,  and  not  any  worthy  purpose. 
There  is  no  faith  in  the  intellectual,  none  in  the  moral  universe. 
There  is  faith  in  chemistry,  in  meat,  and  wine,  in  wealth,  in 
machinery,  in  the  steam-engine,  galvanic  battery,  turbine- 
wheels,  sewing  machines,  and  in  public  opinion,  but  not  in 
divine  causes.  A  silent  revolution  has  loosed  the  tension  of  the 


WORSHIP.  427 

old  religious  soots,  and,  in  place  of  the  gravity  and  permanence 
of  those  tociettafl  of  opinion,  they  run  into  freak  and  extrava 
gance.  In  creeds  never  was  such  levity;  witness  the  heathcn- 
i>ni<  in  Christianity,  the  periodic  "  revivals,"  the  Millennium 
mathematics,  tin-  peacock  ritualism,  the  retrogression  to  IVpery, 
tlie  maundering  of  Mormons,  the  squalor  t.f  Mesmerism,  the 
deliration  of  rappings,  the  rat  and  mouse  revelation,  thumps 
in  table  drawers,  and  Mack  art.  The  architecture,  the  music, 
the  prayer,  partake  of  the  madness:  the  arts  sink  into  shift 
and  make-believe.  Not  knowing  what  to  do,  we  ape  our  an 
cestors  ;  the  churches  stagger  backward  to  the  mummeries  of 
the  Dark  Ages.  13y  the  irresistible  maturing  of  the  general 
mind,  the  Christian  traditions  have  lost  their  hold.  The  dogma 
of  the  mystic  offices  of  Christ  being  dropped,  and  he  standing 
on  his  genius  as  a  moral  teacher,  't  is  impossible  to  maintain 
the  old  emphasis  of  his  personality  :  and  it  recedes,  as  all  per 
sons  must,  before  the  sublimity  of  the  moral  laws.  From  this 
change,  and  in  the  momentary  absem-e  of  any  religious  genius 
that  could  offset  the  immense  material  activity,  there  is  a 
feeling  that  religion  is  gone.  When  Paul  Leronx  offered 
his  article  "  Dicti "  to  the  conductor  of  a  leading  French 
journal,  he  replied,  "La  >/t'f*ft<>/t  de  Dieu  manqite  cTactualite" 
In  Italy,  Mr.  <  ;iad>tone  said  of  the  late  King  of  Naples,  "  It 
has  been  a  proverb,  that  he  has  erected  the  negation  of  God 
into  a  system  of  government.'1  In  this  country,  the  like  stupe 
faction  was  in  the  air,  and  the  phrase  "higher  law"  became  a 
political  jibe.  What  proof  of  infidelity,  like  the  toleration 
and  propagandism  of  slavery  1  What,  like  the  direction  of 
education  1  What,  like  the  facility  of  conversion  ?  What,  like 
the  externality  of  churches  that  once  sucked  the  roots  of  right 
and  wrong,  and  now  have  perished  away  till  they  are  a  speck 
of  whitewash  on  the  wall  ]  What  proof  of  scepticism  like  the 
base  rate  at  which  the  highest  mental  and  moral  gifts  are  held  ] 
Let  a  man  attain  the  highest  and  broadest  culture  that  any 
American  lias  possessed,  then  let  him  die  by  sea-storm,  railroad 
collision,  or  other  accident,  and  all  America  will  acquiesce  that 
the  best  thing  lias  happened  to  him;  that,  after  the  education 
has  gone  far,  such  is  the  expensiveness  of  America,  that  the 
best  use  to  put  a  fine  person  to,  is,  to  drown  him  to  save  his 
board. 

Another  scar  of  this  scepticism  is  the  distrust  in  human  vir 
tue.  It  is  believed  by  well-dressed  proprietors  that  there  is  no 
more  virtue  than  they  possess  ;  that  the  solid  portion  of  socie- 


428  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

ty  exist  for  the  arts  of  comfort  :  that  life  is  an  affair  to  put 
somewhat  between  the  upper  and  lower  mandibles.  How 
prompt  the  suggestion  of  a  low  motive !  Certain  patriots  in 
England  devoted  themselves  for  years  to  creating  a  public 
opinion  that  should  break  down  the  corn-laws  and  establish 
free  trade.  '  Well,'  says  the  man  in  the  street,  '  Cobden  got 
a  stipend  out  of  it.'  Kossuth  fled  hither  across  the  ocean  to 
try  if  he  could  rouse  the  New  World  to  a  sympathy  with 
European  liberty.  *  Ay,'  says  New  York,  '  he  made  a  hand 
some  thing  of  it,  enough  to  make  him  comfortable  for  life.' 

See  what  allowance  vice  finds  in  the  respectable  and  well- 
conditioned  class.  If  a  pickpocket  intrude  into  the  society  of 
gentlemen,  they  exert  what  moral  force  they  have,  and  he 
finds  himself  uncomfortable,  and  glad  to  get  away.  But  if  an 
adventurer  go  through  all  the  forms,  procure  himself  to  be 
elected  to  a  post  of  trust,  as  of  senator,  or  president, — 
though  by  the  same  arts  as  we  detest  in  the  house-thief,  — the 
same  gentlemen  who  agree  to  discountenance  the  private 
rogue,  will  be  forward  to  show  civilities  and  marks  of  respect 
to  the  public  one  :  and  no  amount  of  evidence  of  his  crimes 
will  prevent  them  giving  him  ovations,  complimentary  dinners, 
opening  their  own  houses  to  him,  and  priding  themselves  on  his 
acquaintance.  We  were  not  deceived  by  the  professions  of 
the  private  adventurer,  —  the  louder  he  talked  of  his  honor, 
the  faster  we  counted  our  spoons  ;  but  we  appeal  to  the  sanc 
tified  preamble  of  the  messages  and  proclamations  of  the 
public  sinner,  as  the  proof  of  sincerity.  It  must  be  that  they 
who  pay  this  homage  have  said  to  themselves,  On  the  whole, 
we  don't  know  about  this  that  you  call  honesty ;  a  bird  in  the 
hand  is  better. 

Even  well-disposed,  good  sort  of  people  are  touched  with 
the  same  infidelity,  and  for  brave,  straightforward  action,  use 
half-measures  and  compromises.  Forgetful  that  a  little  meas 
ure  is  a  great  error,  forgetful  that  a  wise  mechanic  uses  a 
sharp  tool,  they  go  on  choosing  the  dead  men  of  routine.  But 
the  official  men  can  in  no  wise  help  you  in  any  question  of  to 
day,  they  deriving  entirely  from  the  old  dead  things.  Only 
those  can  help  in  counsel  or  conduct  who  did  not  make  a 
party  pledge  to  defend  this  or  that,  but  who  were  appointed  by 
God  Almighty,  before  they  came  into  the  world,  to  stand  for 
this  which  they  uphold. 

It  has  been  charged  that  a  want  of  sincerity  in  the  leading 
men  is  a  vice  general  throughout  American  society.  But  the 


WORSHIP.  429 

multitude  of  the  siek  shall  not  make  us  deny  the  existence  of 

health.  In  spite  of  our  imbecility  and  terrors,  and  "universal 
of  religion."  fa,  fa.,  tin-  moral  B6HM  reappears  to-day 
With  the  Bmme  morning  newness  that  has  been  from  of  old 
the  fountain  of  beauty  and  strength.  You  say,  there  is  no 
religion  now.  'T  is  like  Siiying  in  rainy  weather,  there  is  no 
sun,  when  at  that  moment  we  are  witnessing  one  of  his  super 
lative  etiects.  The  religion  of  the  cultivated  elass  now,  to  be 
sure,  consists  in  an  avoidance  of  acts  and  engagements  which  it 
was  once  their  religion  to  assume.  But  this  avoidance  will 
yield  spontaneous  forms  in  their  due  hour.  There  is  a  princi 
ple  which  is  the  basis  of  things,  which  all  speech  aims  to  say, 
and  all  action  to  evolve,  a  simple,  quiet,  undescribed,  uiule- 
scrihable  presence,  dwelling  very  peacefully  in  us,  our  rightful 
lord  ;  we  are  not  to  do,  but  to  let  do  ;  not  to  work,  but  t«»  he 
worked  upon ;  and  to  this  homage  there  is  a  consent^  of  all 
thoughtful  and  just  men  in  all  ages  and  conditions.  To  this 
sentiment  belong  vast  and  sudden  enlargements  of  power. 
'T  is  remarkable  that  our  faith  in  ecstasy  consists  with  total 
inexperience  of  it,  It  is  the  order  of  the  world  to  educate 
with  accuracy  the  senses  and  the  understanding;  and  the  en 
ginery  at  work  to  draw  out  these  powers  in  priority,  no 
doubt,  has  its  office.  But  we  are  never  without  a  hint  that 
these  powers  arc  mediate  and  servile,  and  that  we  arc  one  day 
to  deal  with  real  being,- — -688611060  with  essences.  Even  the 
fury  of  material  activity  has  some  results  friendly  to  moral 
health.  The  energetic  action  of  the  times  develops  individu 
alism,  and  the  religious  appear  isolated.  I  esteem  this 
in  the  right  direction.  Heaven  deals  with  us  on  no  represent 
ative  svstem.  Souls  are  not  saved  in  bundles.  The  Spirit 
saith  to  the  man,  '  How  is  it  with  thee  ?  thee  personally  ?  is  it 
well]  is  it  ill]'  Fora  great  nature,  it  is  a  happiness  to  es 
cape  a  religions  training,  -•-  religion  of  character  is  so  apt  to 
be  invaded.  Religion  must  always  be  a  crab  fruit  :  it  cannot 
be  grafted  and  keep  its  wild  beauty.  "  I  have  seen."  said  a 
traveller  who  had  known  the  extremes  of  society,  —  "  I  have 
seen  human  nature  in  all  its  forms,  it  is  everywhere  the  same, 
but  the  wilder  it  is,  the  more  virtuous." 

.  the  old  forms  of  religion  decay,  and  that  a  scepti 
cism  devastates  the  community.  I  do  nut  think  it  can  be  cured 
or  stayed  by  any  modification  of  the<»l.>_:ic  en  eds,  much  less 
by  theolugic  discipline.  The  cure  for  false  theology  is  mother- 
wit.  Forget  your  books  and  traditions,  and  obey  your  moral 


430  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

perceptions  at  this  hour.  That  which  is  signified  by  the  words 
Amoral  "  and  "  spiritual "  is  a  lasting  essence,  and,  with  what 
ever  illusions  we  have  loaded  them,  will  certainly  bring  back 
the  words,  age  after  age,  to  their  ancient  meaning.  I  know  no 
words  that  mean  so  much.  In  our  definitions,  we  grope  after 
the  spiritual  by  describing  it  as  invisible.  The  true  meaning 
of  spiritual  is  real;  that  law  which  executes  itself,  which  works 
without  means,  and  which  cannot  be  conceived  as  not  existing 
Men  talk  of  "  mere  morality,"  —  which  is  much  as  if  one  should 
say  '  Poor  God,  with  nobody  to  help  him.'  1  find  the  omni 
presence  and  the  almightiness  in  the  reaction  of  every  atom  in 
Nature  T  can  best  indicate  by  examples  those  reactions  by 
which  every  part  of  Nature  replies  to  the  purpose  of  the  actor, 
—  beneficently  to  the  good,  penally  to  the  bad.  Let  us  replace 
sentimeiitalism  by  realism,  and  dare  to  uncover  those  simple 
and  terrible  laws,  which,  be  they  seen  or  unseen,  pervade  and 

'°Every  man  takes  care  that  his  neighbor  shall  not  cheat  him. 
But  a  day  comes  when  he  begins  to  care  that  he  do  not  cheat 
his  neighbor.  Then  all  goes  well.  He  has  changed  his  mar 
ket-cart  into  a  chariot  of  the  sun.  What  a  day  dawns,  when 
we  have  taken  to  heart  the  doctrine  of  faith  !  to  prefer,  as  a 
better  investment,  being  to  doing  ;  being  to  seeming  ;  logic j  to 
rhythm  and  to  display  ;  the  year  to  the  day  ;  the  life  to  1 
year;  character  to  performance  ;  — and  have  come  to  know 
that  justice  will  be  done  us  ;  and,  if  our  genius  is  slow,  the 
term  will  be  lone:.  ,.  , 

'T  is  certain  that  worship  stands  in  some  commanding  rela* 
tion  to  the  health  of  man,  and  to  his  highest  powers,  so  as 
be,  in  some  manner,  the  source  of  intellect.  All  the  great  ages 
have  been  ages  of  belief.  I  mean,  when  there  was  any  extraor 
dinary  power  of  performance,  when  great  national  movements 
began,  when  arts  appeared,  when  heroes  existed  when  poems 
were  made,  the  human  soul  was  in  earnest,  and  had  fixed  its 
thoughts  on  spiritual  verities,  with  as  strict  a  grasp  as  that  of 
the  hands  on  the  sword,  or  the  pencil,  or  the  trowel  It  is 
true  that  genius  takes  its  rise  out  of  the  mountains  ot  : 
tude  '  that  all  beauty  and  power  which  men  covet  are  some 
how  born  out  of  that"  Alpine  district  ;  that  any  extraordinary 
de-ree  of  beauty  in  man  or  woman  involves  a  moral  charm 
Thus  I  think,  we  very  slowly  admit  in  another  man  a  higher 
de-ree  of  moral  sentiment  than  our  own,  -  a  finer  conscience, 
more  impressionable,  or,  which  marks  minuter  degrees  ;  an  ei 


WORSHIP.  431 

to  hear  acuter  notes  of  right  and  wrong,  than  we  can.  I  think 
we  listen  suspiciously  and  very  slowly  to  any  evidence  to  that 
point.  But,  onee  satisfied  of  such  superiority,  we  set  no  limit 
to  our  expectation  of  his  genius.  l''ni*  s»i('h  p'T-ons  are  nearer 
to  the  secret  of  Cod  than  others;  are  bathed  l>y  Bl 
waters;  they  hear  notices,  tliey  see  visions,  where  otliers  are 
vacant.  \Ye  believe  that  holiness  confers  a  certain  insight, 
because  not  by  our  private,  but  by  our  public  force,  can  we. 
share  and  know  the  natmv  of  thin--;. 

.  There  is  an  intimate  intenU 'prudence  of  intellect  and  morals. 
(liven  the  equality  of  two  intellects,  —  which  will  form  the 
mo>t  reliable  judgments,  the  good,  or  the  bad  hearted?  "The 
heart  has  its  arguments,  with  which  the  understanding  is  not 
acquainted."  For  the  heart  is  at  once  aware  of  the  state  of 
health  or  disease,  which  is  the  controlling  state,  that  is,  of 
sanity  or  of  insanity,  prior,  of  course,  to  all  question  of  the 
ingenuity  of  ar-unu-nt>.  tin-  amount  of  facts,  or  the  elegance 
of  rhetoric.  So  intimate  is  this  alliance  of  mind  and  heart, 
that  talent  uniformly  sinks  with  character.  The  bias  of  errors 
of  principle  carries  awav  men  into  perilous  courses,  as  soon  as 
their  will  does  not  control  their  passion  or  talent.  Hence  the 
extraordinary  blunder.-,  and  tinal  wrong  head,  into  which  men 
spoiled  by  ambition  usually  fall.  Hence  the  remedy  for  all 
blunders,  the  cure  of  blindness,  the  cure  of  crime,  is  love. 
u  A-  much  love,  so  much  mind,"  said  the  Latin  proverb.  The 
superiority  that  has  no  superior  ;  the  redeemer  and  instructor 
of  soids,  as  it  is  their  primal  essence,  is  love. 

The  moral  must  be  the  measure  of  health.     If  your  eye  is 
on  the  eternal.  voiir  intellect  will  grow,  and  your  opinions  and 
actions  will  have  a  beauty  which  no  learning  or  combined   ad 
vantages  of  other  men  can  rival.      The  moment  of  your  ! 
faith,  and  acceptance  of  the  lucrative  standard,  will  be  marked 
in  the  pause,  or  solstice  of  genius,  the   sequent   retro-r 
and  the  inevitable  loss  of  attraction  toother  minds.      The  vul 
gar  are  sensible  of  the    change   in    you,  and    of  your   descent, 
thou-h  they  clap  you    on  the  luck,    and    congratulate  you    on 
your  incivasod  common  sei. 

Our  recent  culture  ha*  been  in  natural  science.  "We  have 
learned  the  manners  of  the  sun  and  of  the  moon,  of  the  rivers 
and  the  rains,  of  the  mineral  and  elemental  kingdom*,  of 
plants  and  animals.  Man  has  learned  to  weigh  the  sun.  and 
its  weight  neither  loses  nor  gains.  The  path  of  a  star,  tho 
moment  of  an  eclipse,  can  be  determined  to  the  fraction  of  a 


432  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

second.  Well,  to  him  the  book  of  history,  the  book  of  love, 
the  lures  of  passion,  and  the  commandments  of  duty  are 
opened  ;  and  the  next  lesson  taught,  is,  the  continuation  of  the 
inflexible  law  of  matter  into  the  subtile  kingdom  of  will,  and 
of  thought ;  that,  if,  in  sidereal  ages,  gravity  and  projection 
keep  their  craft,  and  the  ball  never  loses  its  way  in  its  wild 
path  through  space,  —  a  secreter  gravitation,  a  secreter  pro 
jection,  rule  not  less  tyrannically  in  human  history,  and  keep 
the  balance  of  power  from  age  to  age  unbroken.  For,  though 
the  new  element  of  freedom  and  an  individual  has  been  admit 
ted,  yet  the  primordial  atoms  are  prefigured  and  predetermined 
to  moral  issues,  are  in  search  of  justice,  and  ultimate  right  is 
done.  Religion  or  worship  is  the  attitude  of  those  who  see 
this  unity,  intimacy,  and  sincerity  ;  who  see  that,  against  all 
appearances,  the  nature  of  things  works  for  truth  and  right 
forever. 

'T  is  a  short  sight  to  limit  our  faith  in  laws  to  those  of 
gravity,  of  chemistry,  of  botany,  and  so  forth.  Those  laws  do 
not  stop  where  our  eyes  lose  them,  but  push  the  same  geome 
try  and  chemistry  up  into  the  invisible  plane  of  social  and  ra 
tional  life,  so  that,  look  where  we  will,  in  a  boy's  game,  or  in 
the  strifes  of  races,  a  perfect  reaction,  a  perpetual  judgment 
keeps  watch  and  ward.  And  this  appears  in  a  class  of  facts 
which  concerns  all  men,  within  and  above  their  creeds. 

Shallow  men  believe  in  luck,  believe  in  circumstances  :  It 
was  somebody's  name,  or  he  happened  to  be  there  at  the  time, 
or,  it  was  so  then,  and  another  day  it  would  have  been  other 
wise.  Strong  men  believe  in  cause  and  effect.  The  man  was 
born  to  do  it,  and  his  father  was  born  to  be  the  father  of  him 
and  of  this  deed,  and,  by  looking  narrowly,  you  shall  see  there 
was  no  luck  in  the  matter,  but  it  was  all  a  problem  in  arith 
metic,  or  an  experiment  in  chemistry.  The  curve  of  the  flight 
of  the  moth  is  preordained,  and  all  things  go  by  number,  rule, 
and  weight. 

Scepticism  is  unbelief  in  cause  and  effect.  A  man  does  not 
see,  that,  as  he  eats,  so  he  thinks  :  as  he  deals,  so  he  is,  and  so 
he  appears ;  he  does  not  see,  that  his  son  is  the  son  of  his 
thoughts  and  of  his  actions ;  that  fortunes  are  not  exceptions 
but  fruits ;  that  relation  and  connection  are  not  somewhere 
and  sometimes,  but  everywhere  and  always  ;  no  miscellany,  no 
exemption,  no  anomaly,  —  bat  method,  and  an  even  web ;  and 
what  comes  out,  that  was  put  in.  As  we  are,  so  we  do ;  and 
as  we  do,  so  is  it  done  to  us ;  we  are  the  builders  of  our  for- 


WORSHIP.  433 

tunes ;  cant  and  lying  and  the  attempt  to  secure  a  good  which 
QOt  I'doiii;  to  us.  arc,  once  for  all,  balked  and  vain.  But, 
in  the  human  mind,  this  tie  of  faith  is  made  alive.  The  law- 
is  the  basis  of  the  human  mind.  In  us,  it  is  inspiration  ;  out 
there  in  Nature,  we  see  its  fatal  strength.  We  call  it  the  mor 
al  sentiment. 

We  owe  t"  the  Hindoo  Scriptures  a  definition  of  Law,  which 
compares  well  with  any  in  our  Western  books.  "  Law  it  is, 
which  is  without  name,  or  color,  or  hands,  or  feet ;  which  is 
smallest  of  the  least,  and  largest  of  the  large  ;  all,  and  know 
ing  all  things;  which  hears  without  ears,  sees  without  eyes, 
moves  without  feet,  and  sei/es  without  hands." 

If  any  reader  tax  me  with  using  vague  and  traditional 
phrases,  let  me  suggest  to  him,  by  a  few  examples,  what  kind 
of  a  trust  this  is,  and  how  real.  Let  me  show  him  that  the 
dice  are  loaded  ;  that  the  colors  are  fast,  because  they  are  the 
native  colors  of  the  fleece  ;  that  the  globe  is  a  battery,  because 
every  atom  is  a  magnet  ;  and  that  the  police  and  sincerity  of 
the  Universe  are  secured  by  God's  delegating  his  divinity  to 
every  particle ;  that  there  is  no  room  for  hypocrisy,  no  margin 
for  choice. 

The  -countryman  leaving  his  native  village,  for  the  first  time, 
and  going  abroad,  finds  all  his  habits  broken  up.  In  a  new 
nation  and  language,  his  sect,  as  Quaker,  or  Lutheran,  is  lost. 
What  !  it  is  not  then  necessary  to  the  order  and  existence  of 
society]  He  misses  this,  and  the  commanding  eye  of  his 
neighborhood,  which  held  him  to  decorum.  This  is  the  peril 
of  New  York,  of  New  Orleans,  of  London,  of  Paris,  to  young 
men.  But  aft  r  a  little  experience,  he  makes  the  discovery 
that  there  are  no  large  cities,  —  none  large  enough  to  hide  in  ; 
that  the  censors  of  action  are  as  numerous  and  as  near  in 
Paris,  as  in  Littleton  or  Portland  ;  that  the  gossip  is  as  prompt 
and  vengeful.  There  is  no  concealment,  and,  for  each  offence, 
ral  veiiuvanee  ;  that,  reaction,  or  m>thin'i /•»'  n»lh'nnj,  or, 

are  ">  ///•'«///  cu  ///- ;/  "/•>  /"/'//,  is  not  a  rule  for  Littleton  or 
Portland,  but  for  the  1  niver-r. 

We  cannot  span'  the  coarsest  muniment  of  virtue.  We  are 
disgusted  by  iTMssip  :  yet  it  is  of  importance  to  keep  the  angels 
in  their  proprieties,  The  smallest  flv  will  draw  blood,  and 
gossip  is  a  weapon  impossible  to  exclude  from  the  privatest, 
lectest  Nature  created  a  police  of  many  ranks. 
God  has  delegated  himself  to  a  million  deputies.  From  these 
low  external  penalties,  the  scale  ascends.  Next  come  the  re- 

TOL.   II.  19  B  B 


434  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

Bentments,  the  fears,  which  injustice  calls  out;  then,  the  false 
relations  in  which  the  offender  is  put  to  other  men  ;  and  the 
reaction  of  his  fault  on  himself,  in  the  solitude  and  devasta 
tion  of  his  mind. 

You  cannot  hide  any  secret.     If  the  artist  succor  his  flag 
ging  spirits  by  opium  or  wine,  his  work  will  characterize  itself 
as  the  effect  of  opium  or  wine.     If  you  make  a  picture  or  a 
statue,  it  sets  the  beholder  in  that  state  of  mind  you  had, 
when  you  made  it.     If  you  spend  for  show,  on  building,  or 
gardening,  or  on  pictures,  or  on  equipages,  it  will  so  appear 
We  are  all  physiognomists  and  penetrators  of  character,  and 
things  themselves  are  detective.     If  you  follow  the  suburban 
fashion  in  building   a   sumptuous-looking  house  for   a    1 
monev,  it  will  appear  to  all  eyes  as  a  cheap  dear  house.     There 
is  no"  privacy  that  cannot  be  penetrated.     No  secret  can  be 
kept  in  the  civilized  world.      Society  is  a  masked  ball  where 
every  one  hides  his  real  character,  and  reveals  it  by  hiding. 
If  a  man  wish  to  conceal  anything  he  carries,  those  whom  he 
meets  know  that  he  conceals  somewhat,  and  usually  know  what 
he  conceals.     Is  it  otherwise  if  there  be  some  belief  or  some 
purpose  he  would  bury  in  his  breast]     'T  is  as  hard  to  hid 
as  fire      He  is  a  strong  man  who  can  hold  down  his  opinion. 
A  man  cannot  utter  two  or  three  sentences,  without  disclosing 
to  intelligent  ears  precisely  where  he  stands  in  life  and  though 
namely,  whether  in  the  kingdom  of  the  senses  and  the  under- 
standing,  or,  in  that  of  ideas  and  imagination   in  the  realm  of 
intSs  and  duty.      People  seem  not  to  see  that  their  opinion 
of  the  worM  is  aL  a  confession  of  character.     We  can  only 
see  what  we  are,  and  if  we  misbehave  we  suspect  others.     The 
le  of  Shakespeare  or  of  Voltaire,  of  Thomas  a  Kempis  or 
of  Bonaparte,  characterizes  those  who  give  it.     As  gaslight 
found  Jbe  the  best  nocturnal  police,  so  the  universe  protects 

^^T^ffi7-!"*  necessarily  with  musket  an, 
pike.     Happy,  if,  seeing  these,  he  can  feel  that  he  has  better 

To   e 


pe.  ,     ,  , 

muskets  and  pikes  in  his  energy  and  cons  ancy. 
creature  is  his  own  weapon,  however  ^llf^\co^ealfet  m 
himself  a  good  while.  His  work  is  sword  and  shield  Let  hm, 
a  "se  nofe,  let  him  injure  none.  The  way  to  mend  the  bad 
|  world  is  to  create  the  right  world.  Here  is  a  low  political  econo 
my  plotting  to  cut  the  throat  of  foreign  competition  and  c 
Hsh  our  own  ;  excluding  others  by  force,  or  making  war  on 
them  or%y  cunning  tariffs,  giving  preference  to  worse  wares 


WORSHIP.  435 

of  ours.  But  the  real  and  lasting  victories  are  those  of  peace, 
and  not  of  war.  The  way  to  conquer  the  foreign  artisan,  is, 
not  to  kill  him,  hut  to  beat  his  work.  And  tin-  Crystal  I'al 
;iid  World  Fairs,  with  their  committees  and  pri/es  on  all 
kinds  of  industry,  are  the  result  <>f  this  feeling.  The  Ameri 
can  workman  who  strikes  ten  blows  with  his  hammer,  whilst 
the  foreign  workman  only  strikes  one,  is  as  ivally  vanquishing 
that  foreigner,  as  if  the  blows  were  aimed  at  and  told  on  his 
person.  I  look  on  that  man  as  happy,  who,  when  there  is 
question  of  success,  looks  into  his  work  for  a  reply,  not  into 
the  market,  not  into  opinion,  not  into  i  atronage.  In  every 
variety  of  human  employment,  in  the  mechanical  and  in  the 
tine  arts,  in  navigation,  in  farming,  in  legislating,  there  are 
among  the  numbers  who  do  their  task  perfunctorily,  as  we 
say,  or  just  to  pass,  and  as  badly  as  they  dare,  —  there  are 
the  workingmen,  on  whom  the  burden  of  the  business  falls,— 
those  who  love  work,  and  love  to  see  it  rightly  done,  who 
finish  their  task  for  its  own  sake  ;  and  the  state  and  the  world 
is  happy,  that  has  the  most  of  such  finishers.  The  world  will 
always  do  justice  at  last  to  such  finishers  :  it  cannot  other 
wise.  He  who  has  acquired  the  ability  may  wait  securely  the 
occasion  of  making  it  felt  and  appreciated,  and  know  that  it 
will  not  loiter.  .Men  talk  as  if  victory  were  something  fortu 
nate.  Work  is  victory.  Wherever  work  is  done,  victory  is 
obtained.  There  is  no  chance,  and  no  blanks.  You  want  hut 
one  verdict  :  if  you  have  your  own,  you  are  secure  .of  the 
rest.  And  yet,  if  witnesses  are  wanted,  witnesses  are  near. 
There  was  never  a  man  born  so  wise  or  good,  but  one  or  more 
companions  came  into  the  world  with  him,  who  delight  in  his 
faculty  and  report  it.  1  cannot  see  without  awe,  that  no  man 
thinks  alone,  and  no  man  acts  alone,  but  the  divine 
who  came  up  with  him  into  life,  —  now  under  one  disguise, 
now  under  another,  —  like  a  police  in  citi/.ens'  clothes,  walk 
with  him.  step  for  step,  through  the  kingdom  of  time. 

This  reaction,  this  sincerity,  is  the  property  of  all  things. 
To  make  our  word  or  act  sublime,  we  must  make  it  real.  It 
is  our  system  that  counts,  not  the  single  word  or  unsupported 
action.  I'se  what  laiiLfua-je  you  will,  you  can  never  say  any 
thing  lint  what  you  are.  What  I  am,  and  what  I  think,  is 
conveyed  to  you,  in  spite  of  my  efforts  to  hold  it  back.  What 
1  am  has  been  secretly  conveyed  from  me  to  another,  whilst  I 
was  vainly  making  up  my  mind  to  tell  him  it.  He  has  heard 
from  me  what  I  never  spoke. 


436  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

As  men  get  on  in  life,  they  acquire  a  love  for  sincerity,  and 
somewhat  less  solicitude  to  be  lulled  or  amused.  In  the  pro 
gress  of  the  character,  there  is  an  increasing  faith  in  the  moral 
sentiment,  and  a  decreasing  faith  in  propositions.  Young  peo 
ple  admire  talents,  and  particular  excellences.  As  we  grow 
older,  we  value  total  powers  and  effects,  as  the  spirit,  or  qual 
ity  of  the  man.  We  have  another  sight,  and  a  new  standard  ; 
an  insight  which  disregards  what  is  done  for  the  eye,  and 
pierces  to  the  doer  ;  an  ear  which  hears  not  what  men  say,  but 
hears  what  they  do  not  say. 

There  was  a  wise,  devout  man  who  is  called,  in  the  Catholic 
Church   St.   Philip  Neri,  of  whom  many  anecdotes  touching 
his  discernment  and  benevolence  are  told  at  Naples  and  Home. 
Amoncr  the  nuns  in  a  convent  not  far  from  Rome,  one  had  ap 
peared  who  laid  claim  to  certain  rare  gifts  of  inspiration  arid 
prophecy,  and  the  abbess  advised  the   Holy  Father,  at  Rome 
of  the  wonderful  powers  shown  by  her  novice.     The  Pope  < 
not  well  know  what  to  make  of  these  new  claims,  and  1  tulip 
coming  in  from  a  journey,  one  day,  he  consulted  him.     Phi  lip 
undertook  to  visit  the  nun,  and  ascertain  her  character, 
threw  himself  on  his  mule,   all  travel-soiled  as  he  was,  and 
hastened  through  the  mud  and  mire  to   the   distant  convent. 
He  told  the  abbess  the  wishes  of  his  Holiness,  and  begged  her 
to  summon  the  nun  without  delay.     The  nun  was  sent  for 
and   as  soon  as  she  came  into  the  apartment,  Philip  stretched 
out  his  leg  all  bespattered  with  mud,  and  desired  her  to  draw 
off  his  boots.      The  young  nun,  who  had  become  the  object  of 
much  attention  and  respect,  drew  back  with  anger,  and  refused 
the  office  •  Philip  ran  out  of  doors,  mounted  his  mule,  and  re 
turned  instantly  to  the  Pope  :  "  Give  yourself  no  uneasiness, 
Holy  Father,  any  longer :  here  is  no  miracle,  for  here  i 

humility." 

We  need  not  much  mind  what  people  please  to  say,  bn 
what  they  must  say  ;  what  their  natures  say  though  their 
busy,  artful,  Yankee  understandings  try  to  hold  back,  and 
choke  that  word,  and  to  articulate  something  different, 
will  sit  quietly,  —  what  they  ought  to  say  is  said,  with  their 
will  or  against  their  will.  We  do  not  care  for  you,  let  us  pre 
tend"  what  we  will;— we  are  always  looking  through  you  to 
the  dim  dictator  behind  you.  Whilst  your  habit  or  whim 
chatters,  we  civilly  and  impatiently  wait  until  that  wise  supe 
rior  shall  speak  again.  Even  children  are  not  deceived  by  the 
false  reasons  which  their  parents  give  in  answer  to  then 


WORSHIP.  i:'>7 

questions,  whether  touching  natural  farts,  or  religion,  or  JUT- 
SOUS.  When  the  parent,  instead  of  thinking  how  it  really  is. 
p'lts  tin-in  rtf  with  a  traditional  or  a  hypocritical  answer,  the 
children  perceive  that  it  is  traditional  OT  hypocritical  To  a 
sound  constitution  the  detect  of  another  is  ;it  once  manifest  ; 
and  the  marks  of  it  are  only  concealed  from  us  by  our  own 
dislocation.  An  anatomical  observer  remarks,  that  the  sympa 
thies  of  the  chest.  abdomen,  and  pelvis  tell  at  last  on  the 
face,  and  on  all  its  features.  Not  only  does  our  be.iiity  waste, 
hut  it  leaves  word  how  it  went  to  waste.  Physiognomy  and 
phrenology  are  not  new  sciences,  but  declarations  of  the  soul 
that  it  is  aware  of  certain  new  sources  of  information.  And 
ii^w  sciences  of  broader  scope  are  starting  up  behind  these. 
And  so  for  ourselves,  it  is  really  of  little  importance  what 
blunders  in  statement  we  make,  so  only  we  make  no  wilful  de 
partures  from  the  truth.  How  a  man's  truth  comes  to  mind, 
long  after  we  have  forgotten  all  his  words!  How  it  comes  to 
us  in  silent  hours,  that  truth  is  our  only  armor  in  all  pa- 
of  life  and  death  !  Wit  is  cheap,  and  anger  is  cheap  ;  but  if 
you  cannot  argue  or  explain  yourself  to  the  other  partv. 
cleave  to  the  truth  against  me,  against  thee,  and  you  gain  a 
st-ition  from  which  you  cannot  be  dislodged.  The  other  party 
will  forget  the  words  that  you  spoke,  but  the  part  you  took 
continues  to  plead  for  you. 

Whv  should  I  hasten  to  solve  every  riddle  which  life  offers 
me  I  'l  am  well  assured  that  the  Questioner,  who  brings  me 
BO  manv  problems,  will  bring  the  answers  also  in  due  time. 
Yerv  rich,  very  potent,  very  cheerful  (liver  that  he  is,  he  shall 
have  it  all  his  own  wax  for  me.  Why  should  I  give  up  my 
thought,  because  1  cannot  answer  an  objection  to  it  {  Consider 
only,  whether  it  remains  in  my  life  the  same  it  was.  Tha*. 
onlv  which  we  have  within,  can  we  see  without.  If  we  UK  el 
nogods.it  is  because  we  harbor  none.  If  there  is  grandeur 
in  you,  you  will  find  grandeur  in  porters  and  sweeps.  He 
onlv  is  riirhtlv  immortal,  to  whom  all  things  are  immortal.  1 
have  read  somewhere,  that  none  is  accomplished,  SO  long  as 
any  are  incomplete  ;  that  the  happiness  of  one  cannot  consist 
with  the  misery  of  any  other. 

The  Buddhists  say.  ••  No  seed  will  die  ":  every  seed  will 
grow.  Where  is  the  service  which  can  escape  its  remunera 
tion  I  What  is  vulgar,  and  the  essence  (.fall  vulgarity,  hut  the 
avarice  of  reward  !  T  is  the  difference  of  artisan  and  artist, 
of  talent  and  genius,  of  sinner  and  saint.  The  man 


438  CONDUCT  OF  LIFE. 

eyes  are  nailed  not  on  the  nature  of  his  act,  but  on  the  wages, 
whether  it  be  money,  or  office,  or  fame,  -is  almost  .equally 
low  He  is  great,  whose  eyes  are  opened  to  see  that  the  re- 
wlrd  of  actions  cannot  be  escaped,  because  he  is  transformed 
into  his  action,  and  taketh  its  nature,  which  bears  its  owt>  fruit, 
like  everv  other  tree.  A  great  man  cannot  be  hindered  of  the 
effect  of'his  act,  because  it  is  immediate.  The  genius  of  life 
is  friendly  to  the  noble,  and  in  the  dark  brings  them  friends 
from  far.  Fear  God,  and  where  you  go,  men  shall  thmk  they 
walk  in  hallowed  cathedrals. 

And  so  I  look  on  those  sentiments  which  make  the  glory  o 
the  human  being,  love,  humility,  faith  as  being  alsc  3  m- 
timacy  of  Divinity  in  the  atoms;  and,  that,  as  soon  as  the 
man  is  right,  assurances  and  previsions  emanate  from  the  in 
terior  of  his  body  and  his  mind  ;  as,  when  flowers  reach  their 
ripeness  incense'  exhales  from  them,  and,  as  a  beautiful  atmos 
phere  is  generated  from  the  planet  by  the  averaged  emanations 
from  all  its  rocks  and  soils. 

Thus  man  is  made  equal  to  every  event      He   can  ^  tace 
danger  for  the  right.     A  poor,  tender,  painful  body,  he  can 
run  into  flame  or  bullets  or  pest.lence,  with  duty  for  his  gu  de 
He  feels  the   insurance   of  a  just  employment.     I    an, 
afraid  of  accident,  as  long  as  I  am  m  my  place      It  is  strang 
that  superior  persons  should   not  feel  that  they  have  some 
better  resistance  against  cholera,  than  avoiding  green  peas  and 
salads.     Life   is  hardly  respectable,  -is  itl  if  it  has  no  gen 
erous,  guaranteeing  task,  no  duties  or  affections,  that  const, 
a  necessity  of  existing.     Every  man's  task  ,s  his  life-preserver 
The  conviction  that  his  work  is  dear  to  God  and  cannot  be 
spared,  defends   him.     The   lightning-rod   that   disarms   the 
cloud  of  its  threat  is  his  body  in  its  duty.     A  high  aim  reacts 
on  the  means,  on  the  days,  on  the  organs  of  the  body.     A 
hi-h  aim  is  curative,  as  well  as  arnica.     "Napoleon,     says 
Goethe,  "visited  those  sick  of  the  plague,  in  order  to  prove 
that  the  man  who  could  vanquish  fear,  could  vanquish  t 
plague  also  ;  and  he  was  right.     'T  is  incredible  what  force  the 
wilfhas  in  such  cases  :  it  penetrates  the  body,  and  puts  it  m 
a  state  of  activity,  which  repels  all  hurtful  influences  ;  whilst 


f  Orange,  that,  whilst  he  was 
besieging  a  town  on  the  continent,  a  gentleman  sent  ^tc  ,him  on 
public  business  came  to  his  camp,  and,  learning  that  the  King 
was  before  the  walls,  he  ventured  to  go  where  he  was. 


WORSHIP.  439 

found  him  directing  the  operation  of  his  gunners,  and,  having 

explained  his  errand,  and  received  his  answer,  the  Kinur  said  : 
"  Do  you  not  know,  sir.  tliat  every  moment  \<>u  spend  here  is  at 
the  risk  of  yotir  life  ("  "  1  run  no  more  risk,"  replied  t  he  -entle- 
man,  "than  yinir  Majesty."  "  Yes,"  said  tlu-  Kin;:,  "hut  my 
duty  brings  tin-  here,  and  yours  does  not/'  In  a  few  minutes, 
a  eannon-l>all  fell  on  the  spot,  and  the  gentleman  was  killed. 

Thus  ean  the  faithful  student  rovers*-  all  the  warnings  of 
his  early  instinct,  under  the  guidance  of  a  deeper  instinct. 
He  learns  to  welcome  misfortune,  learns  that  adversity  is  the/ 
prosperity  of  the  great.  He  learns  the  greatness  of  humility. 
He  shall  work  in  the  dark,  work  against  failure,  pain,  and  ill- 
will.  If  he  is  insulted,  he  can  be  insulted  ;  all  his  affair  is  not 
to  insult.  Hafiz  writes  :  — 

At  the  last  day,  men  shall  wear 
On  their  houd's  the  dust. 
As  enHirn  and  a>  ornament 
Of  their  lowly  trust. 

The  moral  equalizes  all  ;  enriches,  empowers  all.  It  is  the 
coin  which  huys  all,  and  which  all  find  in  their  pocket.  Under 
the  whip  of  the  driver,  the  slave  shall  feel  his  equality  with 
saints  and  heroes.  In  the  greatest  destitution  and  calamity, 
it  surprises  man  with  a  feeling  of  elasticity  which  makes  noth 
ing  of  loss. 

I  recall  some  traits  of  a  remarkable  person  whose  life  and 
discourse  betrayed  many  inspirations  of  this  sentiment. 
Benedict  was  always  great  in  the  present  time.  He  had 
hoarded  nothing  from  the  past,  neither  in  his  cabinets,  neither 
in  his  memory.  He  had  no  designs  on  the  future,  neither  for 
what  he  should  do  to  men,  nor  for  what  men  should  do  for 
him.  He  said:  'I  am  never  beaten  until  I  know  that  I  am 
beaten.  I  meet  powerful  brutal  people  to  whom  I  have  no 
skill  to  reply.  They  think  they  have  defeated  me.  It  is  so 
published  in  society,  in  the  journals  ;  I  am  defeated  in  this 
fashion,  in  all  men's  sight,  perhaps  on  a  dozen  different  lines. 
My  l«'urer  may  show  that  I  am  in  debt,  cannot  yet  make  my 
ends  meet,  and  vanquish  the  enemy  so.  My  race  may  not  be 
prospering  :  we  are  sick,  ugly,  obscure,  unpopular.  My  chil 
dren  may  be  worsted.  I  seem  to  fail  in  my  friends  and  clients, 
too.  That  is  to  say,  in  all  the  encounters  that  have  yet  chanced, 
I  have  not  been  weaponed  for  that  particular  occasion,  and 
have  been  historically  beaten  ;  and  yet,  I  know,  all  the  time, 
that  I  have  never  been  beaten  ;  have  never  yet  fought,  shall 


440  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

certainly  fight,  when  my  hour  comes,  and  shall  beat.'  "  A 
man,"  says  the  Vishnu  Sarma,  "  who  having  well  compared 
his  own  strength  or  weakness  with  that  of  others,  after  all 
doth  not  know  the  difference,  is  easily  overcome  by  his 
enemies." 

'  I  spent,'  he  said,  '  ten  months  in  the  country.  Thick- 
starred  Orion  was  my  only  companion.  Wherever  a  squirrel 
or  a  bee  can  go  with  security,  I  can  go.  I  ate  whatever  was 
set  before  me  ;  I  touched  ivy  and  dogwood.  When  I  went 
abroad,  I  kept  company  with  every  man  on  the  road,  for  I 
knew  that  my  evil  and  my  good  did  not  come  from  these,  but 
from  the  Spirit,  whose  servant  I  was.  For  I  could  not  stoop 
to  be  a  circumstance,  as  they  did,  who  put  their  life  into  their 
fortune  and  their  company.  I  would  not  degrade  myself  by 
casting  about  in  my  memory  for  a  thought,  nor  by  waiting  for 
one.  If  the  thought  come,  I  would  give  it  entertainment.  It 
should,  as  it  ought,  go  into  my  hands  and  feet ;  but  if  it  come 
not  spontaneously,  it  comes  not  rightly  at  all.  If  it  can  spare 
me,  I  am  sure  I  can  spare  it.  It  shall  be  the  same  with  my 
friends.  I  will  never  woo  the  loveliest.  I  will  not  ask  any 
friendship  or  favor.  When  I  come  to  my  own,  we  shall  both 
know  it.  Nothing  will  be  to  be  asked  or  to  be  granted.' 
Benedict  went  out  to  seek  his  friend,  and  met  him  on  the  way  ; 
but  he  expressed  no  surprise  at  any  coincidences.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  he  called  at  the  door  of  his  friend,  and  he  was 
not  at  home,  he  did  not  go  again  ;  concluding  that  he  had 
misinterpreted  the  intimations. 

He  had  the  whim  not  to  make  an  apology  to  the  same  indi 
vidual  whom  he  had  wronged.  For  this,  he  said,  was  a  piece 
of  personal  vanity  ;  but  he  would  correct  his  conduct  in  that 
respect  in  which  he  had  faulted,  to  the  next  person  he  should 
meet.  Thus,  he  said,  universal  justice  was  satisfied. 

Mira  came  to  ask  what  she  should  do  with  the  poor  Genesee 
woman  who  had  hired  herself  to  work  for  her,  at  a  shilling  a 
day,  and,  now  sickening,  was  like  to  be  bedridden  on  her  hands. 
Should  she  keep  her,  or  should  she  dismiss  her  1  But  Benedict 
said,  '  Why  ask  ?  One  thing  will  clear  itself  as  the  thing  to 
be  done,  and  not  another,  when  the  hour  comes.  Is  it  a  ques 
tion,  whether  to  put  her  into  the  street.  Just  as  much  whether 
to  thrust  the  little  Jenny  on  your  arm  into  the  street.  The 
milk  and  meal  you  give  the  beggar  will  fatten  Jenny.  Thrust 
the  woman  out,  and  you  thrust  your  babe  out  of  doors,  whether 
it  so  seem  to  you  or  not.' 


WORSHIP.  441 

In  the  Shakers,  so  called.  I  find  one  piece  of  belief,  in  the 
doctrine  which  they  faithfully  hold,  that  encourages  them  to 
open  their  doors  to  every  wayfaring  man  who  proposes  to  come 
among  them  ;  for,  they  say,  tin-  Spirit  will  presently  manifest 
to  the  man  himself,  and  to  the  society,  what  manner  of  person 
he  is,  and  whether  he  helmi^s  annum  them.  They  do  not  re- 
OetTe  him.  they  do  not  reject  him.  And  not  in  vain  have  they 
worn  their  elav  coat,  and  drudged  in  their  fields,  and  shuffled 
in  their  bruin  dance,  from  year  to  year,  if  they  have  truly 
learned  thus  much  wisdom. 

Honor  him  whose  life  is  perpetual  victory  ;  him,  who,  by 
svmpathy  with  the  invisible  and  real,  finds  support  in  labor,  in 
stead  of  praise  :  who  does  not  shine,  and  would  rather  not.  With 
ey.-s  ..pen,  he  makes  the  choice  of  virtue,  which  outrages  the 
virtuous  ;  of  religion,  which  churches  stop  their  discords  to 
burn  and  exterminate :  for  the  highest  virtue  is  always  against 
the  law. 

Miracle  comes  to  the  miraculous,  not  to  the  arithmetician. 
Talent  and  success  interest  me  but  moderately.  The  great 
aitta,  they  who  affect  our  imagination,  the  men  who  could  not 
make  their  hands  meet  around  their  objects,  the  rapt,  the  lost, 
the  fools  of  ideas, — they  suggest  what  they  cannot  execute. 
Th"y  speak  to  the  ages,  and  are  heard  from  afar.  The  Spirit 
does  not  love  cripples  and  malformations.  If  there  ever  was 
a  good  man,  be  certain  there  was  another,  and  will  be  more. 

And  so  in  relation  to  that  future  hour,  that  spectre  clothed 
with  beauty  at  our  curtain  by  night,  at  our  table  by  day,  — 
the  apprehension,  the  assurance  of  a  coming  change.  The 
race  of  mankind  have  always  offered  at  least  this  implied 
thanks  for  the  gift  of  existence,  —  namely,  the  terror  of  its 
being  taken  away  :  the  insatiable  curiosity  and  appetite  for  its 
continuation,  the  whole  revelation  that' is  vouchsafed  us,  is, 
the  gentle  trust,  which,  in  our  experience  we  find,  will  cover 
also  with  flowers  the  -slopes  of  this  chasm. 

Of  immortality,  the  soul,  when  well  employed,  is  incurious. 
It  is  so  well,  that  it  is  sure  it  will  be  well.  It  asks  no  ques 
tions  of  the  Supreme  Power.  The  son  of  Antiochus  asked  his 
father,  when  he  would  join  battle.  "  I  )o^t  thou  fear,"  re 
plied  the  King,  "that  thou  only  in  all  the  army  wilt  not  hear 
the  trumpet  '"  T  is  a  higher  thing  to  confide,  that,  if  it  is 
best  we  should  live,  we  shall  live, — 'tis  higher  to  have  this 
conviction  than  to  have  the  lea^e  of  indefinite  centuries  and 
millenniums  and  seons.  Higher  than  the  question  of  our 
19* 


442  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

duration  is  the  question  of  our  deserving.  Immortality  will 
come  to  such  as  are  fit  for  it,  and  he  who  would  be  a  great 
soul  in  future,  must  be  a  great  soul  now.  It  is  a  doctrine  too 
great  to  rest  on  any  legend,  that  is,  on  any  man's  experience 
but  our  own.  It  must  be  proved,  if  at  all,  from  our  own  ac 
tivity  and  designs,  which  imply  an  interminable  future  for  their 
play. 

What  is  called  religion  effeminates  and  demoralizes.  Such 
as  you  are,  the  gods  themselves  could  not  help  you.  Men 
are  too  often  unfit  to  live,  from  their  obvious  inequality 
to  their  own  necessities,  or,  they  suffer  from  politics,  or  bad 
neighbors,  or  from  sickness,  and  they  would  gladly  know  that 
they  were  to  be  dismissed  from  the  duties  of  life.  But  the 
wise  instinct  asks,  '  How  will  death  help  them  ] '  These  are 
not  dismissed  when  they  die.  You  shall  not  wish  for  death  out 
of  pusillanimity.  The  weight  of  the  Universe  is  pressed  down 
on  the  shoulders  of  each  moral  agent  to  hold  him  to  his  task. 
The  only  path  of  escape  known  in  all  the  worlds  of  God  is  per 
formance.  You  must  do  your  work,  before  you  shall  be  re 
leased.  And  as  far  as  it  is  a  question  of  fact  respecting  the 
government  of  the  Universe,  Marcus  Antoninus  summed  the 
whole  in  a  word:  "  It  is  pleasant  to  die,  if  there  be  gods ;  and 
sad  to  live,  if  there  be  none." 

And  so  I  think  that  the  last  lesson  of  life,  the  choral  song 
which  rises  from  all  elements  and  all  angels,  is,  a  voluntary 
obedience,  a  necessitated  freedom.  Man  is  made  of  the  same 
atoms  as  the  world  is,  he  shares  the  same  impressions,  predis 
positions,  and  destiny.  When  his  mind  is  illuminated,  when 
his  heart  is  kind,  he  throws  himself  joyfully  into  the  sublime 
order,  and  does,  with  knowledge,  what  the  stones  do  by  struc 
ture. 

The  religion  which  is  to  guide  and  fulfil  the  present  and 
coming  ages,  whatever  else  it  be,  must  be  intellectual.  The 
scientific  mind  must  have  a  faith  which  is  science.  "  There 
are  two  things,"  said  Mahomet,  "  which  I  abhor,  the  learned 
in  his  infidelities,,  and  the  fool  in  his  devotions."  Our  times 
are  impatient  of  both,  and  specially  of  the  last.  Let  us  have 
nothing  now  which  is  not  its  own  evidence.  There  is  surely 
enough  for  the  heart  and  imagination  in  the  religion  itself. 
Let  us  not  be  pestered  with  assertions  and  half-truths,  with 
emotions  and  snuffle. 

There  will  be  a  new  church  founded  on  moral  science,  at 
first  cold  and  naked,  a  babe  in  a  manger  again,  the  algebra 


WORSHIP.  443 

and  mathematics  of  ethical  law,  the  church  of  men  to  come, 
without  shawms,  or  psalter}',  or  sackbut ;  but  it  will  have 
heaven  and  earth  for  its  beams  and  rafters  ;  science  for  sym 
bol  and  illustration  ;  it  will  fast  enough  gather  beauty,  music, 
picture,  poetry.  Was  never  stoicism  so  stern  and  exigent  as 
this  shall  be.  It  shall  send  man  home  to  his  central  solitude, 
shame  these  social,  supplicating  manners,  and  make  him  know 
that  much  of  the  time  he  must  have  himself  to  his  friend. 
IK'  shall  expect  no  co-operation,  he  shall,  walk  with  no  compan 
ion.  The  nameless  Thought,  the  nameless  Power,  the  super- 
personal  Heart,  —  he  shall  repose  alone  on  that.  He  needs 
only  his  own  verdict.  No  good  fame  can  help,  no  bad  fame 
can  hurt  him.  The  Laws  are  his  consolers,  the  good  Laws 
themselves  are  alive,  they  know  if  we  have  kept  them,  they 
animate  him  with  the  leading  of  great  duty,  and  an  endless 
horizon.  Honor  and  fortune  exist  to  him  who  always  recog- 
ni/cs  the  neighborhood  of  the  great,  always  feels  himself  in 
the  presence  of  high  causes. 


VII. 
CONSIDERATIONS  BY  THE  WAY. 


Hear  what  British  Merlin  sung, 

Of  keenest  eye  and  truest  tongue. 

Say  not,  the  chiefs  who  first  arrive 

Usurp  the  seats  for  which  all  strive; 

The  forefathers  this  land  who  found 

Failed  to  plant  the  vantage-ground; 

Ever  from  one  who  comes  to-morrow 

Men  wait  their  good  and  truth  to  borrow. 

But  wilt  thou  measure  all  thy  road, 

See  thou  lift  the  lighte-t  kMUL 

Who  has  little,  to  him  who  has  less,  can  spare, 

And  thou,  ryndyllan's  son!   beware 

Ponderous  gold  and  stall's  to  bear, 

To  falter  ere  thou  thy  task  fulfil,— 

Only  the  light-armed  climb  the  hill. 

The  richest  of  nil  lord*  is  L'se, 

And  ruddy  Health  the  loftiest  Muse. 

Live  in  the  sunshine,  swim  the  sea, 

Drink  the  wild  air's  salubrity: 

Where  the  star  Canope  shines  in  May, 

Shepherds  are  thankful,  and  nations  gay. 

The  music  that  can  deepest  reach, 

And  cure  all  ill,  is  cordial  speech: 

Mask  thy  wisdom  with  delight, 

Toy  with  the  bow,  yet  hit  the  white. 

Of  all  wit'-  uses,  the  main  one 

Is  to  live  \voll  with  who  has  none. 

Cleave  to  thine  acre:  the  round  year 

Will  fetch  .-ill  fruits  and  virtues  here: 

Fool  and  foe  may  harmless  roam, 

Loved  and  lovers  bide  at  home. 

A  dav  for  toil,  an  hour  lor  sport, 

But  for  a  friend  is  life  too  short. 


CONSIDERATIONS   BY   THE   WAY. 


A  LTHOUGH  this  garrulity  of  advising  is  born  with  us,  I 
^\  confess  that  life  is  rather  a  subject  of  wonder,  than  of 
didactics.  So  much  fate,  so  much  irresistible  dictation  from 
temperament  and  unknown  inspiration  enters  into  it,  that  we 
doubt  we  can  say  anything  out  of  our  own  experience  whereby 
to  help  each  other.  All  the  professions  are  timid  and  expec 
tant  agencies.  The  priest  is  glad  if  his  prayers  or  his  sermon 
meet  the  condition  of  any  soul ;  if  of  two,  if  of  ten,  't  is  a 
signal  success.  But  he  walked  to  the  church  without  am  as 
surance  that  he  knew  the  distemper,  or  could  heal  it.  The 
physician  prescribes  hesitatingly  out  of  his  few  resources,  the 
same  tonic  or  sedative  to  this  new  and  peculiar  constitution, 
which  he  has  applied  with  various  success  to  a  hundred  men 
before.  If  the  patient  mends,  he  is  glad  and  surprised.  The 
lawyer  advises  the  client,  and  tells  his  story  to  the  jury,  and 
it  with  them,  and  is  as  gay  and  as  much  relieved  as  the 
client,  if  it  turns  out  that  he  has  a  verdict.  The  judge 
weighs  the  arguments,  and  puts  a  brave  face  on  the  matter, 
and,  since  there  must  be  a  decision,  decides  as  he  can,  and 
hopes  he  has  done  justice,  and  iriven  satisfaction  to  the  com 
munity  ;  but  is  only  an  advocate  after  all.  And  so  is  all  life 
a  timid  and  unskilful  spectator.  \Y*e  do  what  we  must,  and 
call  it  by  the  U-sf  names.  W<-  like  very  well  to  be  praised 
for  our  action,  but  our  conscience  says,  "  Not  unto  us."  'T  is 
little  we  can  do  for  each  other.  We  accompany  the  youth 
with  sympathy,  and  manifold  old  saving's  of  the  wise,  to  the 
<_'ate  of  the  arena,  but  't  is  certain  that  not  by  strength  of 
ours,  or  of  the  old  sayings,  but  only  on  strength  of  his  own, 
unknown  to  us  or  to  any,  he  must  stand  or  fall.  That  by 
which  a  man  conquers  in  any  passage,  is  a  profound  secret  to 
every  other  being  in  the  world,  and  it  is  only  as  he  turns  hia 


448  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

back  on  us  and  all  men,  and  draws  on  this  most  private  wis 
dom,  that  any  good  can  come  to  him.  What  we  have,  there 
fore,  to  say  of  life,  is  rather  description,  or,  if  you  please,  cele 
bration,  than  available  rules. 

Yet  vigor  is  contagious,  and  whatever  makes  us  either 
think  or  feel  strongly,  adds  to  our  power  and  enlarges  our 
field  of  action.  We  have  a  debt  to  every  great  heart,  to 
every  fine  genius  ;  to  those  who  have  put  life  and  fortune  on 
the  cast  of  an  act  of  justice  ;  to  those  who  have  added  new 
sciences  \  to  those  who  have  refined  life  by  elegant  pursuits. 
'T  is  the  fine  souls  who  serve  us,  and  not  what  is  called  fine 
society.  Fine  society  is  only  a  self-protection  against  the  vul 
garities  of  the  street  and  the  tavern.  Fine  society,  in  the 
common  acceptation,  has  neither  ideas  nor  aims.  It  renders 
the  service  of  a  perfumery,  or  a  laundry,  not  of  a  farm  or  fac 
tory.  'T  is  an  exclusion  and  a  precinct.  Sidney  Smith  said, 
"  A  few  yards  in  London  cement  or  dissolve  friendship."  It  is 
an  unprincipled  decorum  ;  an  affair  of  clean  linen  and  coaches, 
of  gloves,  cards,  and  elegance  in  trifles.  There  are  other 
measures  of  self-respect  for  a  man,  than  the  number  of  clean 
shirts  he  puts  on  every  day.  Society  wishes  to  be  amused. 
I  do  not  wish  to  be  amused.  I  wish  that  life  should  not  be 
cheap,  but  sacred.  I  wish  the  days  to  be  as  centuries,  loaded, 
fragrant.  Now  we  reckon  them  as  bank-days,  by  some  debt 
which  is  to  be  paid  us,  or  which  we  are  to  pay,  or  some  pleas 
ure  we  are  to  taste.  Is  all  we  have  to  do  to  draw  the  breath 
in,  and  blow  it  out  again  ?  Porphyry's  definition  is  better  : 
"  Life  is  that  which  holds  matter  together."  The  babe  in 
arms  is  a  channel  through  which  the  energies  we  call  fate,  love, 
and  reason,  visibly  stream.  See  what  a  cometary  train  of  aux 
iliaries  man  carries  with  him,  of  animals,  plants,  stones,  gases, 
and  imponderable  elements.  Let  us  infer  his  ends  from  this 
pomp  of  means.  Mirabeau  said  :  "  Why  should  we  feel  our 
selves  to  be  men,  unless  it  be  to  succeed  in  everything,  every 
where.  You  must  say  of  nothing,  That  is  beneath  me,  nor  feel 
that  anything  can  be  out  of  your  power.  Nothing  is  impossi 
ble  to  the  man  who  can  will.  Is  that  necessary  ?  That  shall  le: 
—  this  is  the  only  law  of  success."  Whoever  said  it,  this  is  in 
the  right  key.  But  this  is  not  the  tone  and  genius  of  the  men 
in  the  -street.  In  the  streets,  we  grow  cynical.  The  men  we 
meet  are  coarse  and  torpid.  The  finest  wits  have  their  sedi 
ment.  What  quantities  of  fribbles,  paupers,  invalids,  epicures, 
antiquaries,  politicians,  thieves,  and  triflers  of  both  sexes, 


CONSIDERATIONS   BY   THE   WAY.  449 

might  be  advantageously  spared  !  Mankind  divides  itself  into 
two  classes,  — benefactors  and  malefactors.  The  second  class 
is  vast,  the  first  a  handful.  A  person  sclduUL  falls_8icX-but 
the  bystajider8_are_aniniate(l  with  a  faint  hope  that  he  will 
die  :  _ Tqimntities  of  poor  lives  ;  of  distressing  invalids  ;  of 
cases  for  a  gun.  Franklin  said  :  "  Mankind  are  very  superficial 
and  dastanlly  :  they  l»curin  upon  a  thing,  but,  meeting  with  a 
difficulty,  they  fly  from  it  discouraged  :  but  they  have  capaci 
ties,  if  thev  would  employ  them."  Shall  we  then  judge  a 
country  by  the  majority,  or  by  the  minority]  By  the  minor 
ity,  surely.  T  is  pedantry  to  estimate  nations  by  the  census, 
or  by  square  miles  of  land,  or  other  than  by  their  importance 
to  the  mind  of  the  time. 

Leave  this  hypocritical  prating  about  the  masses.  Masses 
are  rude,  lame,  unmade,  pernicious  in  their  demands  and  in 
fluence,  and  need  not  to  be  flattered  but  to  be  schooled.  I 
wish  not  to  concede  anything  to  them,  but  to  tame,  drill, 
divide,  and  break  them  up,  and  draw  individuals  out  of  them. 
The  worst  of  charity  is,  that  the  lives  you  are  asked  to  pre 
serve  are  not  worth  preserving.  Masses  !  the  calamity  is  the 
masses.  I  do  not  wish  any  mass  at  all,  but  honest  men  only, 
lovely,  sweet,  accomplished  women  only,  and  no  shovel-handed, 
narrow-brained,  gin-drinking  million  stockingers  or  lazzaroni  at 
all.  If  government  knew  how,  I  should  like  to  see  it  check, 
not  multiply  the  population.  When  it  reaches  its  true  law  o? 
action,  every  man  that  is  born  will  be  hailed  as  essential. 
Away  with  this  hurrah  of  masses,  and  let  us  have  the  con 
siderate  vote  of  single  men  spoken  on  their  honor  and  their 
conscience.  In  old  Egypt,  it  was  established  law,  that  the 
vote  of  a  prophet  be  reckoned  equal  to  a  hundred  hands.  I 
think  it  was  much  underestimated.  "  Clay  and  clay  differ  in 
dignity,"  as  we  discover  by  our  preferences  every  day.  What 
a  vicious  practice  is  this  of  our  politicians  at  Washington  pair 
ing  off !  as  if  one  man  who  votes  wrong,  going  away,  could 
excuse  you,  who  mean  to  vote  right,  for  going  away ;  or,  as  if 
your  presence  did  not  tell  in  more  ways  than  in  your  vote. 
Suppose  the  three  hundred  heroes  at  Thermopylae  had  paired 
off  with  three  hundred  PeVsians  :  would  it  have  been  all  the 
same  to  Greece,  and  to  history1?  Napoleon  was  culled  l>y  his 
men  Cent  Mi  lie.  Add  honesty  to  him,  and  they  might  have 
called  him  Hundred  Million. 

Nature  makes  fifty  poor  melons  for  one  that  is  good,  and 
shakes  down  a  tree  full  of  gnarled,  wormy,  unripe  crabs,  before 

cc 


450  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

you  can  find  a  dozen  dessert  apples ;  and  she  scatters  nations 
of  naked  Indians,  and  nations  of  clothed  Christians,  with  two 
or  three  good  heads  among  them.  Nature  works  very  hard, 
and  only  hits  the  white  once  in  a  million  throws.  In  mankind, 
she  is  contented  if  she  yields  one  master  in  a  century.  The 
more  difficulty  there  is  in  creating  good  men,  the  more  they  are 
used  when  they  come.  I  once  counted  in  a  little  neighborhood, 
and  found  that  every  able-bodied  man  had,  say  from  twelve  to 
fifteen  persons  dependent  on  him  for  material  aid,  —  to  whom 
he  is  to  be  for  spoon  and  jug,  for  backer  and  sponsor,  for 
nursery  and  hospital,  and  many  functions  beside  :  nor  does  it 
seem  to  make  much  difference  whether  he  is  bachelor  or  patri 
arch  ;  if  he  do  not  violently  decline  the  duties  that  fall  to 
him,  this  amount  of  helpfulness  will  in  one  way  or  another  be 
brought  home  to  him.  _This  is^the  tax  which  his  abilities j)a£.____ 
The  good  men  are  employed  for  private  centres  of  use,  and  for 
larger  influence.  All  revelations,  whether  of  mechanical  or 
intellectual  or  moral  science,  are  made,  not  to  communities,  but 
to  single  persons.  All  the  marked  events  of  our  day,  all  the 
cities,  all  the  colonizations,  may  be  traced  back  to  their  origin 
in  a  private  brain.  All  the  feats  which  make  our  civility  were 
the  thoughts  of  a  few  good  heads. 

Meantime,  this  spawning  productivity  is  not  noxious  or  need 
less.  You  would  say,  this  rabble  of  nations  might  be  spared, 
But  no,  they  are  all  counted  and  depended  on.  Fate  keeps 
everything  alive  so  long  as  the  smallest  thread  of  public  neces 
sity  holds  it  on  to  the  tree.  The  coxcomb  and  bully  and  thief 
class  are  allowed  as  proletaries,  every  one  of  their  vices  being 
the  excess  or  acridity  of  a  virtue.  The  mass  are  animal,  in 
pupilage,  and  near  chimpanzee.  But  the  units,  whereof  this 
mass  is  composed  are  neuters,  every  one  of  which  may  be 
grown  to  a  queen-bee.  The  rule  is,  we  are  used  as  brute  atoms, 
until  we  think  :  then,  we  use  all  the  rest.  Nature  turns  all 
malfaisance  to  good.  Nature  provided  for  real  needs.  No 
sane  man  at  last  distrusts  himself.  His  existence  is  a  perfect 
answer  to  all  sentimental  cavils.  If  he  is,  he  is  wanted,  and 
has  the  precise  properties  that  are  required.  That  we  are  here, 
is  proof  we  ought  to  be  here.  We  have  as  good  right,  and  the 
same  sort  of  right  to  be  here,  as  Cape  Cod  or  Sandy  Hook  have 
to  be  there. 

To  say  then,  the  majority  are  wicked,  means  no  malice,  no 
bad  heart  in  the  observer,  but,  simply,  that  the  majority  are 
unripe,  and  have  not  yet  come  to  themselves,  do  not  yet  know 


CONSIDERATIONS   BY   THE   WAY.  451 

their  opinion.  That,  if  they  knew  it,  is  an  oracle  for  them  and 
for  all.  But  in  the  passing  moment,  the  quadruped  interest  is 
very  prone  to  prevail  :  uml  this  beast-force,  whilst  it  makes  the 
discipline  of  the  world,  the  school  of  heroes,  the  glory  of  mar 
tyrs,  has  provoked  in  every  age  the  satire  of  wits,  and  the  tears 
of  good  men.  They  tind  the  journals,  the  clubs,  the  govern 
ments,  the  churches,  to  he  in  the  interest,  and  the  pay  of 
the  l>evil.  And  wise  men  have  met  this  obstruction  in  their 
times,  like  Socrates,  with  his  famous  irony;  like  Bacon,  with 
life-long  dissimulation;  like  Erasmus,  witli  his  book  "The 
Praise  of  Folly  " ;  like  Rabelais,  with  his  satire  rending  the 
nations.  "  They  were  the  fools  who  cried  against  me,  you  will 
sav."  wrote  the  Chevalier  de  Boufflers  to  (irimm  ;  ''  ay,  but 
the  fools  have  the  advantage  of  numbers,  and  't  is  that  which 
decides.  'T  is  of  no  use  for  us  to  make  war  with  them  :  we 
shall  not  weaken  them  ;  they  will  always  be  the  masters. 
There  will  not  be  a  practice  or  an  usage  introduced,  of  which 
they  are  not  the  authors." 

In  front  of  these  sinister  facts,  the  first  lesson  of  history  is 
the  good  of  evil.  Good  is  a  good  doctor,  but  Bad  is  sometimes 
a  better.  'T  is  the  oppressions  of  William  the  Norman,  savage 
forest-laws,  and  crushing  despotism,  that  made  possible  the 
inspirations  of  Mayna  Charta  under  John.  Edward  I.  wanted 
money,  armies,  castles,  and  as  much  as  he  could  get.  It  was 
necessary  to  call  the  people  together  by  shorter,  swifter  ways, 
—  and  the  House  of  Commops  arose.  To  obtain  subsidies,  he 
paid  in  privileges.  In  the  twenty-fourth  year  of  his  reign,  he 
decreed,  "that  no  tax  should  be  levied  without  consent  of 
Lords  and  Commons";  — which  is  the  basis  of  the  Knglish 
Constitution.  Plutarch  affirms  that  the  cruel  wars  which  fol 
lowed  tin-  march  of  Alexander,  introduced  the  civility,  language, 
und  arts  of  Creece  into  the  savage  East  :  introduced  marriag«-  ; 
built  seventy  cities  :  and  united  hostile  nations  under  on. 
eminent.  The  barbarians  who  broke  up'  the  Roman  empire 
did  not  arrive  a  day  too  soon.  Schiller  says,  the  Thirty  Years' 
War  made  Germany  a  nation.  Rough,  selfish  despots  serve  men 
immensely,  as  Henry  VIII.  in  the  contest  with  the  Pope;  as 
the  infatuations  no  less  than  the  wisdom  of  Cromwell  :  as  the 
ferocity  of  the  llussian  e/ars  ;  MS  the  fanaticism  of  the  French 
les  of  17S!>.  The  frost  which  kills  the  harvest  of  a  year, 
sav.--  the  harvests  of  a  century,  by  destroying  the  weevil  or 
the  locust.  Wars,  fires,  plagues,  break  up  immovable  routine, 
clear  the  ground  of  rotten  races,  and  dens  of  distemper,  and 


452  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

open  a  fair  field  to  new  men.  There  is  a  tendency  in  things 
to  right  themselves,  and  the  war  or  revolution  or  bankruptcy 
that  shatters  a  rotten  system,  allows  things  to  take  a  new  and 
natural  order.  The  sharpest  evils  are  bent  into  that  periodicity 
which  makes  the  errors  of  planets,  and  the  fevers  and  distem 
pers  of  men,  self-limiting.  Nature  is  upheld  by  antagonism. 
Passions,  resistance,  danger,  are  educators.  We  acquire  the 
strength  we  have  overcome.  Without  war,  no  soldier  ;  with 
out  enemies,  no  hero.  The  sun  were  insipid,  if  the  universe 
were  not  opaque.  And  the  glory  of  character  is  in  affronting 
the  horrors  of  depravity,  to  draw  thence  new  nobilities  of 
power  :  as  Art  lives  and  thrills  in  new  use  and  combining  of 
contrasts,  and  mining  into  the  dark  evermore  for  blacker  pits 
of  night.  WThat  would  painter  do,  or  what  would  poet  or 
saint,  but  for  crucifixions  and  hells  1  And  evermore  in  the 
world  in  this  marvellous  balance  of  beauty  and  disgust,  mag 
nificence  and  rats.  Not  Antoninus,  but  a  poor  washerwoman 
said  :  "  The  more  trouble,  the  more  lion  ;  that 's  my  principle." 

I  do  not  think  very  respectfully  of  the  designs  or  the  doings 
of  the  people  who  went  to  California,  in  1849.  It  was  a  rush 
and  a  scramble  of  needy  adventurers,  and,  in  the  western 
country,  a  general  jail-delivery  of  all  the  rowdies  of  the  rivers. 
Some  of  them  went  with  honest  purposes,  some  with  very  bad 
ones,  and  all  of  them  with  the  very  commonplace  wish  to  find 
a  short  way  to  wealth.  But  Nature  watches  over  all,  and 
turns  this  uialfaisance  to  good.  California  gets  peopled  and 
subdued,  —  civilized  in  this  immoral  way,  —  and,  on  this  fic 
tion,  a  real  prosperity  is  rooted  and  grown.  'T  is  a  decoy- 
duck  ;  't  is  tubs  thrown  to  amuse  the  whale  :  but  real  ducks, 
and  whales  that  yield  oil,  are  caught.  And  out  of  Sabine 
rapes,  and  out  of  robbers'  forays,  real  Romes  and  their  hero 
isms  come  in  fulness  of  time. 

In  America,  the  geography  is  sublime,  but  the  men  are  not  : 
the  inventions  are  excellent,  but  the  inventors  one  is  sometimes 
ashamed  of.  The  agencies  by  which  events  so  grand  as  the 
opening  of  California,  of  Texas,  of  Oregon,  and  the  junction 
of  the  two  oceans,  are  effected,  are  paltry,  —  coarse  selfishness, 
fraud,  and  conspiracy  :  and  most  of  the  great  results  of  his 
tory  are  brought  about  by  discreditable  means. 

The  benefaction  derived  in  Illinois,  and  the  great  West,  from 
railroads,  is  inestimable,  and  vastly  exceeding  any  intentional 
philanthropy  on  record.  What  is  the  benefit  done  by  a  good 
King  Alfred,  or  by  a  Howard,  or  Pestalozzi,  or  Elizabeth  Fry, 


CONSIDERATIONS    in     II IK    WAY.  4f>3 

or  Florence  Nightingale,  or  any  lover,  less  or  larger,  com 
pared  with  the  involuntarv  blessing  wrought  on  nations  by  the 
selfish  capitalists  who  built  the  Illinois.  Michigan,  and  the  net 
work  of  the  Mississippi  valley  roads,  which  have  evoked  not 
only  all  the  wealth  of  the  soil,  but  the  energy  of  millions  of 
men.  'T  is  a  sentenf'  of  anrient  wisdom,  "that  (Jod  hangs 
the  greatest  weights  on  the  smallest  wires.'' 

What  happens  thus  to  nations,  befalls  every  day  in  private 
houses.  When  the  friends  of  a  gentleman  brought  to  his  no 
tice  the  follies  of  his  sons,  with  many  hints  of  their  danger, 
he  replied,  that  he  knew  so  much  mischief  when  he  was  a  1><  y, 
and  had  turned  out  on  the  \\hole  so  successfully,  that  he  was 
not  alarmed  by  the  dissipation  of  boys  ;  't  was  dangerous  wa 
ter,  but,  he  thought,  they  would  soon  touch  bottom,  and  then 
swim  to  the  top.  This  is  bold  practice,  and  there  are  many 
failures  to  a  good  escape.  Yet  one  would  say,  that  a  good  un- 
derBtanding  would  suttice  as  well  as  moral  sensibility  to  keep 
one  erect  ;  the  gratifications  of  the  passions  are  so  quickly 
seen  to  be  damaging,  and  —  what  men  like  least  —  seriously 
lowering  them  in  social  rank.  Then  all  talent  sinks  with 
character. 

••  '  '/•"//' :  woi.  r,-rrenr  fnixsi  «  ton  merit  <•"  said  V-oltairc.  We 
see  those  who  surmount,  by  dint  of  some  egotism  or  infatua 
tion,  obstacles  from  which  the  prudent  recoil.  The  ri-jht  par 
tisan  is  a  heady  narrow  man,  who,  because  he  does  not  see 
many  thin  -  me  one  thing  with  heat  and  exaggeration, 

and.  if  he  falls  amonir  other  narrow  men,  or  on  objects  which 
have  a  brief  importance,  as  some  trade  or  politics  of  the 
hour,  he  prefers  it  to  the  universe,  and  seems  inspired,  and  a 
godsend  to  those  who  wish  to  magnify  the  mutter,  and  carry  a 
point.  Better,  certainly,  if  we  could  secure  the  strength  and 
fire  which  rude,  passionate  men  bring  into  BOOiety,  <piite  clear 
of  their  vices.  But  who  dares  draw  out  tin1  linchpin  from  the 
wa:_r"n-wheel  1  'T  is  so  manifest,  that  there  is  no  moral  de 
formity  but  is  a  good  passion  out  of  place  :  that  there  is  no 
man  who  is  not  indebted  to  his  foibles  ;  that.  aco»rdinir  to  the 
old  oracle,  "the  Furies  arc  the  bonds  of  men  "  :  that  the  poi 
sons  are  our  principal  medicines,  which  kill  the  disease,  and 
save  the  life.  In  the  hiirh  prophetic  phrase.  //-  •;IHS?X  fhr 
irratlt  <>f  jn'in  f<>  i>r<i>.«  hint,  and  t wists  and  wrenches  our  evil 

to  our  good.     Shakespeare  wrote,— 

"  T  is  said,  best  men  are  moulded  of  their  faults  "• 


454  CONDUCT  OF  LIFE. 

and  great  educators  and  lawgivers,  and  especially  generals, 
and  leaders  of  colonies,  mainly  rely  on  this  stuff,  and  esteem 
men  of  irregular  and  passional  force  the  best  timber.  A  man 
of  sense  and  energy,  the  late  head  of  the  Farm  School  in 
Boston  Harbor  said  to  me  :  "  I  want  none  of  your  good  boys, 
—  give  me  the  bad  ones."  And  this  is  the  reason,  I  suppose, 
why,  as  soon  as  the  children  are  good,  the  mothers  are  scared, 
and  think  they  are  going  to  die.  Mirabeau  said  :  "  There  are 
none  but  men  of  strong  passions  capable  of  going  to  great 
ness  ;  none  but  such  capable  of  meriting  the  public  gratitude." 
Passion,  though  a  bad  regulator,  is  a  powerful  spring.  Any 
absorbing  passion  has  the  effect  to  deliver  from  the  little  coils 
and  cares  of  every  day  :  't  is  the  heat  which  sets  our  human 
atoms  spinning,  overcomes  the  friction  of  crossing  thresholds, 
and  first  addresses  in  society,  and  gives  us  a  good  start  afid 
speed,  easy  to  continue,  when  once  it  is  begun.  In  short, 
there  is  no  man  who  is  not  at  some  time  indebted  to  his  vices, 
as  no  plant  that  is  not  fed  from  manures.  We  only  insist 
that  the  man  meliorate,  and  that  the  plant  grow  upward,  and 
convert  the  base  into  the  better  nature. 

The  wise  workman  will  not  regret  the  poverty  or  the  solitude 
which  brought  out  his  working  talents.  The  youth  is  charmed 
with  the  fine  air  and  accomplishments  of  the  children  of  for 
tune  :  but  all  great  men  come  out  of  the  middle  classes.  'T  is 
better  for  the  head  ;  't  is  better  for  the  heart.  Marcus  An 
toninus  says,  that  Fronto  told  him,  "  that  the  so-called 
high-born  are  for  the  most  part  heartless " ;  whilst  noth 
ing  is  so  indicative  of  deepest  culture  as  a  tender  considera 
tion  of  the  ignorant.  Charles  James  Fox  said  of  England  : 
"  The  history  of  this  country  proves,  that  we  are  not  to 
expect  from  men  in  affluent  circumstances  the  vigilance, 
energy,  and  exertion  without  which  the  House  of  Commons 
would  lose  its  greatest  force  and  weight.  Human  nature  is 
prone  to  indulgence,  and  the  most  meritorious  public  services 
have  always  been  performed  by  persons  in  a  condition  of  life 
removed  from  opulence."  And  yet  what  we  ask  daily,  is  to 
be  conventional.  Supply,  most  kind  gods  !  this  defect  in  my 
address,  in  my  form,  in  my  fortunes,  which  puts  me  a  little 
out  of  the  ring  :  supply  it,  and  let  me  be  like  the  rest  whom 
I  admire,  and  on  good  terms  with  them.  But  the  wise  gods 
say,  No,  we  have  better  things  for  thee.  By  humiliations,  by 
defeats,  by  loss  of  sympathy,  by  gulfs  of  disparity,  learn  a 
wider  truth  and  humanity  than  that  of  a  fine  gentleman.  A 


CONSIDERATIONS   BY    THE   WAY.  4 .",."» 

Fifth-Avenue  landlord,  a  West-End  householder,  is  not  the 
highest  style  of  man  ;  and,  though  good  hearts  and  sound 
minds  are  of  no  condition,  yet  he  who  is  to  IK-  wise  for  many, 
must  not  1)*'  protecte  1.  He  must  know  tin-  huts  where  poor 
lu-ii  lie,  and  the  chores  which  poor  men  do,  The  first  -class 
minds.  Homer,  .  K>op,  Socrates,  Alfred,  Cervantes,  Shake 
speare,  Franklin,  had  the,  poor  man's  feeling  and  mortification. 
A  rich  man  was  never  insulted  in  his  life;  but  this  man  must 
be  stung.  A  rich  man  was  never  in  danger  from  cold,  or 
lrin_r,T,  or  war,  or  rulhans,  and  you  can  see  he  was  not,  from 
the  moderation  of  his  ideas.  T  is  a  fatal  disadvantage  to  bj 
cockered,  and  to  cat  too  much  cake.  What  tests  of  manhood 
could  he  stand  I  Take  him  out  of  his  protections.  He  is  a 
go  »d  book-keeper  ;  or  he  is  a  shrewd  adviser  in  the  insurance 
oih  v  :  perhaps  he  could  pass  a  college  examination,  and  take 
his  decrees  :  perhaps  he  can  give  wise  counsel  in  a  court  of 
law.  Now  plant  him  down  among  farmers,  firemen,  Indians, 
and  emigrants.  Set  a  dog  on  him  :  set  a  highwayman  on 
him  :  try  him  with  a  course  of  mobs  :  send  him  to  Kansas,  to 
Pike's  Peak,  to  Oregon  :  and,  if  he  h.ivc  true  faculty,  this  may 
be  the  clement  he  wants,  and  he  will  come  out  of  it  with 
broader  wisdom  and  m  inly  power.  .Esop,  Saadi,  Cervantes, 
Regnard,  have  be  -n  taken  by  corsairs,  left  for  dead,  sold  for 
slaves,  and  know  the  realities  of  human  life. 

Pud  times   have  a  scientific  value.     These  are  occasions  a 
good  learner    would    not    miss.      As  we  g>  gladly  to  Fanenil 
Hall,  to  be  played  upon  by  the  stormy  winds  and  strong  fin 
•f  enrage  I   patriotism,  so  is  a  fanatical  persecution,  civil 
w.ir,  nation  il   bankruptcy,  or  revolution,  more  rich  in  the  cen 
tral  tones  than  languid  years  of  prosperity.      What   had  hern, 
ever  since  our  memory,  solid  continent,  yawns  apart,  and  dis- 
-    its   composition    and    gen  -sis.      We    learn    geology  the 
morning  after  the  earthquake,  »>n  ghastlv  diagrams  of  cloven 
mountains,  upheaved  plains,  and  the  dry  bed  of  the  sea. 

In  our  life  and  culture,  everything  is  worked  up  ami  comes 
in  use,  — passion,  war,  revolt,  bankruptcy,  and  not  less,  folly 
and  blunders,  insult,  ennui,  and  bad  company.  Xature  is  a 
r  t_r  merchant,  who  works  up  every  shred  and  ort  and  end 
into  new  creations  ;  like  a  good  chemist,  whom  I  found,  the 
other  day,  in  his  laboratory,  converting  his  old  shirts  into 
pure  white  sugar.  Life  is  a  boundless  privilege,  and  when 
you  pay  for  your  ticket,  and  g -t  info  the  car,  you  have  ID 
g  less  what  good  company  you  shall  find  there.  You  buy 


456  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

much  that  is  not  rendered  in  the  bill.     Men  achieve  a  certain 
greatness  unawares,  when  working  to  another  aim. 

If  now  in  this  connection  of  discourse,  we  should  venture 
on  laying  down  the  first  obvious  rules  of  life,  1  will  not  here 
repeat  the  first  rule  of  economy,  already  propounded  once  and 
again,  that  every  man  shall  maintain  himself,  —  but  I  will  say, 
get  health.  No  labor,  pains,  temperance,  poverty,  nor  exer 
cise,  that  can  gain  it,  must  be  grudged.  For  sickness  is  a 
cannibal  which  eats  up  all  the  life  and  youth  it  can  lay  hold 
of,  and  absorbs  its  own  sons  and  daughters.  I  figure  it  as  a 
pale,  wailing,  distracted  phantom,  absolutely  selfish,  heedless 
of  what  is  good  and  great,  attentive  to  its  sensations,  losing  its 
soul,  and  afflicting  other  souls  with  meanness  and  mopiiigs, 
and  with  ministration  to  its  voracity  of  trifles.  Dr.  Johnson 
said  severely,  "  Every  man  is  a  rascal  as  soon  as  he  is  sick." 
Drop  the  cant,  and  treat  it  sanely.  In  dealing  with  the 
drunken,  we  do  not  affect  to  be  drunk.  We  must  treat  the 
sick  with  the  same  firmness,  giving  them,  of  course,  every  aid, 
—  but  withholding  ourselves.  I  once  asked  a  clergyman  in  a 
retired  town,  who  were  his  companions  1  what  men  of  ability 
he  saw  7  he  replied,  that  he  spent  his  time  with  the  sick  and 
the  dying.  I  said,  he  seemed  to  me  to  need  quite  other  com 
pany,  and  all  the  more  that  he  had  this  :  for  if  people  were 
sick  and  dying  to  any  purpose,  we  would  leave  all  and  go  to 
them,  but,  as  far  as  I  had  observed,  they  were  as«£ivolous  as 
the  rest,  and  sometimes  much  more  frivolous.  Let;  us  engage 
our  companions  not  to  spare  us.  I  knew  a  wise  woman  who 
said  to  her  friends,  "  When  I  am  old,  rule  me."  And  the  best' 
part  of  health  is  fine  disposition.  It  is  more  essential  than 
talent,  even  in  the  works  of  talent.  Nothing  will  supply  the 
want  of  sunshine  to  peaches,  and,  to  make  knowledge  valuable, 
you  must  have  the  cheerfulness  of  wisdom.  Whenever  you 
are  sincerely  pleased,  you  are  nourished.  The  joy  of  the  spirit 
indicates  its  strength.  All  healthy  things  are  sweet-tempered. 
Genius  works  in  sport,  and  goodness  smiles  to  the  last  ;  and, 
for  the  reason,  that  whoever  sees  the  law  which  distributes 
things  does  not  despond,  but  is  animated  to  great  desires 
and  endeavors.  He  who  desponds  betrays  that  he  has  not 
seen  it. 

/  'T  is  a  Dutch  proverb,  that  "  paint  costs  nothing,"  such  are 
its  preserving  qualities  in  damp  climates.  Well,  sunshine  costs 
less,  yet  is  finer  pigment.  And  so  of  cheerfulness,  or  a  good 
temper,  the  more  it  is  spent,  the  more  of  it  remains.  The 


CONSIDERATIONS   BY   THE   WAY.  457 

latent  heat  of  an  ounce  of  wood  or  stone  is  inexhaustible.  You 
mav  nil)  the  same  chip  of  pine  to  the  point  of  kindling,  a  hun 
dred  times  ;  and  the  power  of  happiness  of  any  soul  is  not  to  be 
computed  or  drained.  It  is  observed  that  a  depression  of  spir 
its  develops  the  germs  of  a  plague  in  individuals  and  nations. 
It  is  an  old  commendation  of  right  behavior,  "J///.v  A^/VX, 
S'ij>nita  .--/A/,'1  which  our  English  proverb  translates,  "lie  merry 
ami  wise."  1  know  how  easy  it  is  to  men  of  the  world  to  look 
grave  and  sneer  at  your  sanguine  youth,  and  its  glittering 
dreams.  But  I  find  the  gayest  castles  in  the  air  that  were 
ever  piled,  far  better  for  comfort  and  for  use,  than  the  dungeons 
in  the  air  that  are  daily  dug  and  eaverned  out  by  grumbling, 
discontented  people.  1  know  those  miserable  fellows,  and  I 
hate  them,  who  see  a  black  star  always  riding  through  the  light 
and  colored  clouds  in  the  sky  overhead  :  waves  of  light  pass 
over  and  hide  it  for  a  moment,  but  the  black  star  keeps  fast  in 
the  zenith.  But  power  dwells  with  cheerfulness  ;  hope  puts 
us  in  a  working  mood,  whilst  despair  is  no  muse,  and  untunes 
the  active  powers.  A  man  should  make  life  and  Nature 
happier  to  us,  or  he  had  better  never  been  born.  "When  the 
political  economist  reckons  up  the  unproductive  classes,  he 
should  put  at  the  head  this  class  of  pitiers  of  themselves,  crav- 
ers  of  sympathy,  bewailing  imaginary  disasters.  An  old  French 
verse  runs,  in  my  translation  :  — 

Some  of  your  pjiefs  you  have  cured, 

And  tlio  sharpest  you  still  have  survived; 

But  what  toniHMits  of  pain  you  endured 
From  evils  that  never  arrived  ! 

There  are  three  wants  which  never  can  be  satisfied  :  that  of 
the  rich,  who  wants  something  more  ;  that  of  the  sick,  who 
wants  something  different;  and  that  of  the  traveller.  \\ho 
says:  'Anywhere  but  here.'  The  Turkish  cadi  said  to  Lay- 
ard,  "  After  the  fashion  of  thy  people,  thou  hast  wandered  from 
one  plaee  to  another,  until  thou  art  happy  and  content  in 
none."  My  countrymen  are  not  less  infatuated  with  the  m<;,,-» 
toy  of  Italy.  All  America  seems  on  the  point  of  embarking 
for  Europe.  But  we  shall  not  always  tra\.  and  lands 

with  light  purposes,  and  for  pleasure,  as  we  say.  One  day  we 
shall  cast  out  the  passion  for  Kumpe,  by  the  passion  for  America. 
Culture  will  give  gravity  and  domestic  rest  to  those  \\  h<»  now 
travel  only  as  not  knowing  how  else  to  spend  money.  Already, 
who  provoke  pity  like  that  excellent  family  party  just  arriving 
in  their  well-appointed  carriage,  as  far  from  home  and  any 

VOL.  II.  20 


458  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

holiest  end  as  ever1?  Each  nation  has  asked  successively, 
'  What  are  they  here  for  1 '  until  at  last  the  party  are  shame 
faced,  and  anticipate  the  question  at  the  gates  of  each  town. 

Genial  manners  are  good,  and  power  of  accommodation  to 

j  any  circumstance,  but  the  high  prize  of  life,  the  crowning  for- 

I  V    tune  of  a  man  is   to  be  born  with  a  bias  to  some  pursuit, 

which  finds  him  in  employment  and  happiness,  —  whether  it 

be  to  make  baskets,  or  broadswords,  or  canals,  or  statutes,  or 

songs.     I  doubt  not  this  was  the  meaning  of  Socrates,  when  he 

pronounced  artists  the  only  truly  wise,  as  being  actually,  not 

apparently  so. 

In  childhood,  we  fancied  ourselves  walled  in  by  the  horizon, 
as  by  a  glass  bell,  and  doubted  not,  by  distant  travel,  we 
should  reach  the  baths  of  the  descending  sun  and  stars.  On 
experiment,  the  horizon  flies  before  us,  and  leaves  us  on  an 
endless  common,  sheltered  by  no  glass  bell.  Yet  't  is  strange 
how  tenaciously  we  cling  to  that  bell-astronomy,  of  a  protecting 
domestic  horizon.  I  find  the  same  illusion  in  the  search  after 
happiness,  which  I  observe,  every  summer,  recommenced  in 
this  neighborhood,  soon  after  the  pairing  of  the  birds.  The 
young  people  do  not  like  the  town,  do  not  like  the  sea-shore, 
they  will  go  inland  ;  find  a  dear  cottage  deep  in  the  mountains, 
secret  as  their  hearts.  They  set  forth  on  their  travels  in 
search  of  a  home  :  they  reach  Berkshire ;  they  reach  Vermont ; 
they  look  at  the  farms  ;  —  good  forms,  high  mountain-sides  ; 
but  where  is  the  seclusion  1  The  farm  is  near  this  ;  't  is  near 
that ;  they  have  got  far  from  Boston,  but  't  is  near  Albany,  or 
near  Burlington,  or  near  Montreal.  They  explore  a  farm, 
but  the  house  is  small,  old,  thin  ;  discontented  people  lived 
there,  and  are  gone  :  —  there  's  too  much  sky,  too  much  out 
doors  ;  too  public.  The  youth  aches  for  solitude.  When  he 
comes  to  the  house,  he  passes  through  the  house.  That  does 
not  make  the  deep  recess  he  sought.  '  Ah  !  now,  I  perceive,' 
he  says,  '  it  must  be  deep  with  persons  ;  friends  only  can  give 
depth.'  Yes,  but  there  is  a  great  dearth,  this  year,  of  friends  ; 
hard  to  find,  and  hard  to  have  when  found  :  they  are  just  go 
ing  away  :  they  too  are  in  the  whirl  of  the  flitting  world,  and 
have  engagements  and  necessities.  They  are  just  starting  for 
Wisconsin  ;  have  letters  from  Bremen  :  —  see  you  again,  soon. 
Slow,  slow  to  learn  the  lesson,  that  there  is  but  one  depth,  but 
one  interior,  and  that  is,  —  his  purpose.  When  joy  or  calamity 
or  genius  shall  show  him  it,  then  woods,  then  forms,  then  city 
shopmen  and  cab-drivers,  indifferently  with  prophet  or  friend, 


CONSIDERATIONS   BY   THE   WAY.  459 

will  mirror  back  to  him  its  unfathomable  heaven,  its  populous 
solitude. 

The  uses  of  travel  are  occasional,  and  short ;  but  the  best 
fruit  it  finds,  when  it  finds  it,  is  conversation  ;  and  this  is  a/ 
main  t'unetion  of  life.  What  a  difference  in  the  hospitality  of  V 
minds  !  Inestimable  is  lie  to  whom  we  can  say  what  we  can 
not  say  to  ourselves.  Others  are  involuntarily  hurtful  to  us, 
and  bereave  us  of  the  power  of  thought,  impound  and  imprison 
us.  As,  when  there  is  sympathy,  there  needs  but  one  wise  man 
in  a  company,  and  all  are  wise,  —  so  a  blockhead  makes  a 
blockhead  of  his  companion.  Wonderful  power  to  benumb 
>es  this  brother.  When  he  comes  into  the  office  or  pub 
lic  room,  the  society  dissolves  ;  one  after  another  slips  out,  and 
the  apartment  is  at  his  disposal.  WThat  is  incurable  but  a 
frivolous  habit  1  A  fly  is  as  untamable  as  a  hyena.  Yet  folly 
in  the  sense  of  fun,  fooling,  or  dawdling  can  easily  be  borne  ; 
as  Talleyrand  said,  "  1  find  nonsense  singularly  refreshing  "  ; 
but  a  virulent,  aggressive  fool  taints  the  reason  of  a  household. 
1  have  seen  a  whole  family  of  quiet,  sensible  people  unhinged 
and  beside  themselves,  victims  of  such  a  rogue  ;  for  the  steady 
wrongheadedness  of  one  perverse  person  irritates  the  best :  since 
we  must  withstand  absurdity,  lint  resistance  only  exasperates 
the  acrid  fool,  who  believes  that  Nature  and  gravitation  are 
quite  wrong,  and  he  only  is  right.  Hence  all  the  dozen  in 
mates  are  soon  perverted,  with  whatever  virtues  and  industries 
they  have,  into  contradictors,  accusers,  explainers,  and  repairers 
of  this  one  malefactor  ;  like  a  boat  about  to  be  overset,  or  a 
carriage  run  away  with,  —  not  only  the  foolish  pilot  or  driver, 
but  everybody  on  board  is  forced  to  assume  strange  and  ridicu 
lous  attitudes,  to  balance  the  vehicle  and  prevent  the  upsetting. 
For  remedy,  whilst  the  case  is  yet  mild,  I  recommend  phlegm 
and  truth  :  let  all  the  truth  that  is  spoken  or  done  be  at  the 
zero  of  indifferency,  or  truth  itself  will  be  folly.  Hut,  when 
the  case  is  seated  and  malignant,  the  only  safety  is  in  amputa 
tion  ;  as  seamen  say,  you  shall  cut  and  run.  How  to  live  with 
unfit  companions?  —  for,  with  such,  life  is  for  the  most  part 
spent  :  and  experience  teaches  little  better  than  our  earliest 
instinct  of  self-defence,  namely,  not  to  engage,  not  to  mix  your 
self  in  any  manner  with  them  ;  but  let  their  madness  spend 
itself  unopposed. 

Conversation  is  an  art  in  which  a  man  has  all  mankind  for 
his  competitors,  for  it  is  that  which  all  are  practising  every  day 
while  they  live.  Our  habit  of  thought  —  take  men  as  thej 


460  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

rise  —  is  not  satisfying  ;  in  the  common  experience,  I  fear,  it 
is  poor  and  squalid.  The  success  which  will  content  them  is 
a  bargain,  a  lucrative  employment,  an  advantage  gained  over  a 
competitor,  a  marriage,  a  patrimony,  a  legacy,  and  the  like. 
With  these  objects,  their  conversation  deals  with  surfaces  : 
politics,  trade,  personal  defects,  exaggerated  bad  news,  and  the 
rain.  This  is  forlorn,  and  they  feel  sore  and  sensitive.  Now, 
if  one  comes  who  can  illuminate  this  dark  house  with  thoughts, 
show  them  their  native  riches,  what  gifts  they  have,  how  indis 
pensable  each  is,  what  magical  powers  over  nature  and  men  ; 
what  access  to  poetry,  religion,  and  the  powers  which  consti 
tute  character ;  he  wakes  in  them  the  feeling  of  worth,  his 
suggestions  require  new  ways  of  living,  new  books,  new  men, 
new  arts  and  sciences, — then  we  come  out  of  our  egg-shell 
existence  into  the  great  dome,  and  see  the  zenith  over  and  the 
nadir  under  us.  Instead  of  the  tanks  and  buckets  of  knowl 
edge  to  which  we  are  daily  confined,  we  come  down  to  the 
shore  of  the  sea,  and  dip  our  hands  in  its  miraculous  waves. 
'T  is  wonderful  the  effect  on  the  company.  They  are  not  the 
men  they  were.  They  have  all  been  to  California,  and  all  have 
come  back  millionnaires.  There  is  no  book  and  no  pleasure  in 
life  comparable  to  it.  Ask  what  is  best  in  our  experience,  and 
we  shall  say,  a  few  pieces  of  plain-dealing  with  wise  people. 
Our  conversation  once  and  again  has  apprised  us  that  we  be 
long  to  better  circles  than  we  have  yet  beheld  ;  that  a  mental 
power  invites  us,  whose  generalizations  are  more  worth  for  joy 
and  for  effect  than  anything  that  is  now  called  philosophy  or 
literature.  In  excited  conversation,  we  have  glimpses  of  the 
Universe,  hints  of  power  native  to  the  soul,  far-darting  lights 
and  shadows  of  an  Andes  landscape,  such  as  \ve  can  hardly 
attain  in  lone  meditation.  Here  are  oracles  sometimes  profusely 
given,  to  which  the  memory  goes  back  in  barren  hours. 

Add  the  consent  of  will  and  temperament,  and  there  exists 
the  covenant  of  friendship.  Our  chief  want  in  life,  is,  some 
body  who  shall  make  us  do  what  we  can.  This  is  the  service 
of  a  friend.  With  him  we  are  easily  great.  There  is  a  sub 
lime  attraction  in  him  to  whatever  virtue  is  in  us.  How  he 
flings  wide  the  doors  of  existence  !  What  questions  we  ask 
of  him  !  what  an  understanding  we  have  !  how  few  words  are 
needed !  It  is  the  only  real  society.  An  Eastern  poet,  Ali 
Ben  Abu  Taleb,  writes  with  sad  truth  :  — 

"  He  who  has  a  thousand  friends  has  not  a  friend  to  spare, 
And  he  who  has  one  enemy  shall  meet  him  everywhere." 


CONSIDERATIONS   BY  THE  WAY.  461 

But  few  writers  have  said  anything  better  to  this  point  than 
Hafiz,  who  indicates  this  relation  as  the  test  of  mental  health  : 
"Thou  learnest  no  secret  until  thou  knowest  friendship,  since 
to  the  unsound  no  heavenly  knowledge  outers."  Neither  is 
lite  IOHL:  enough  for  friendship.  That  is  a  serious  and  majes 
tic  atlair,  like  a  royal  presence,  or  a  religion,  and  not  a  postil 
ion's  dinner  to  he  eaten  on  the  run.  There  is  a  pudency 
about  friendship,  as  about  love,  and  though  fine  souls  never 
lose  sight  of  it,  yet  they  do  not  name  it.  With  the  first 
class  of  men  our  friendship  or  good  understanding  goes  quite 
behind  all  accidents  of  estrangement,  of  condition,  of  reputa 
tion.  And  yet  we  do  not  provide  for  the  greatest  good  of 
life.  We  take  care  of  our  health  ;  we  lay  up  money  :  we 
make  our  roof  tight,  and  our  clothing  sufficient ;  but  who 
provides  wisely  that  he  shall  not  be  wanting  in  the  best 
property  of  all,  —  friends  1  We  know  that  all  our  training  is 
to  fit  us  for  this,  and  we  do  not  take  the  step  towards  it. 
How  long  shall  we  sit  and  wait  for  these  benefactors  1 

It  makes  no  difference,  in  looking  back  five  years,  how  you 
have  been  dieted  or  dressed  ;  whether  you  have  been  lodged 
on  the  first  floor  or  the  attic  ;  whether  you  have  had  pin  lei  is 
and  baths,  good  cattle  and  horses,  have  been  carried  in  a  neat 
equipage,  or  in  a  ridiculous  truck  :  these  things  are  forgotten 
so  quickly,  and  leave  no  effect.  But  it  counts  much  whether 
we  have  had  good  companions,  in  that  time,  —  almost  as 
much  as  what  we  have  been  doing.  And  see  the  overpower 
ing  importance  of  neighborhood  in  all  association.  As  it  is 
marriage,  fit  or  unfit,  that  makes  our  home,  so  it  is  who  lives 
near  us  of  equal  social  decree,  — a  few  people  at  convenient 
distance,  no  matter  how  bad  company,  —  these,  and  these 
only,  shall  be  your  life's  companions  :  and  all  those  who  are 
native,  congenial,  and  by  many  an  oath  of  the  heart,  sacra- 
mented  to  you,  aro  gradually  and  totally  lost.  You  can 
not  deal  systematically  with  this  fine  element  of  society,  and 
one  may  take  a  good  deal  of  pains  to  bring  people  together, 
and  to  organize  clubs  and  debating  societies,  and  yet  no  re 
sult  come  of  it.  But  it  is  certain  that  there  is  a  great  deal 
of  good  in  us  that  does  not  know  itself,  and  that  a  habit  of 
union  and  competition  brings  people  up  and  keeps  them  up 
to  their  highest  point  ;  that  life  would  be  twice  or  ten  times 
life,  if  spent  with  wise  and  fruitful  companions.  The  obvious 
inference  is,  a  little  useful  deliberation  and  preconcert,  when 
one  goes  to  buy.  house  and  land. 


\ 


462  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

But  we  live  with  people  on  other  platforms ;  we  live  with 
dependents,  not  only  with  the  young  whom  we  are  to  teach 
all  we  know,  and  clothe  with  the  advantages  we  have  earned, 
but  also  with  those  who  serve  us  directly,  and  for  money. 
Yet  the  old  rules  hold  good.  Let  not  the  tie  be  mercenary, 
though  the  service  is  measured  by  money.  Make  yourself  ne 
cessary  to  somebody.  Do  not  make  life  hard  to  any.  This 
point  is  acquiring  new  importance  in  American  social  life. 
Our  domestic  service  is  usually  a  foolish  fracas  of  unreason 
able  demand  on  one  side,  and  shirking  on  the  other.  A  man 
of  wit  was  asked,  in  the  train,  what  was  his  errand  in  the  city  ? 
He  replied,  "  I  have  been  sent  to  procure  an  angel  to  do  cook 
ing."  A  lady  complained  to  me,  that,  of  her  two  maidens, 
one  was  absent-minded,  and  the  other  was  absent-bodied. 
And  the  evil  increases  from  the  ignorance  and  hostility  of 
every  ship-load  of  the  immigrant  population  swarming  into 
houses  and  farms.  Few  people  discern  that  it  rests  with  the 
master  or  the  mistress  what  service  comes  from  the  man  or 
the  maid  ;  that  this  identical  hussy  was  a  tutelar  spirit  in 
one  house,  and  a  haridan  in  the  other.  All  sensible  people  are 
selfish,  and  nature  is  tugging  at  every  contract  to  make  the 
terms  of  it  fair.  If  you  are  proposing  only  your  own,  the 
other  party  must  deal  a  little  hardly  by  you.  If  you  deal 
generously,  the  other,  though  selfish  and  unjust,  will  make 
an  exception  in  your  favor,  and  deal  truly  with  you.  When 
I  asked  an  iron-master  about  the  slag  and  cinder  in  railroad 
iron,  —  "  0,"  he  said,  "  there 's  always  good  iron  to  be  had  : 
if  there 's  cinder  in  the  iron,  't  is  because  there  was  cinder  in 
the  pay." 

But  why  multiply  these  topics,  and  their  illustrations, 
which  are  endless  1  Life  brings  to  each  his  task,  and,  what 
ever  art  you  select,  algebra,  planting,  architecture,  poems, 
commerce,  politics,  —  all  are  attainable,  even  to  the  miracu 
lous  triumphs,  on  the  same  terms,  of  selecting  that  for  which 
you  are  apt ;  begin  at  the  beginning,  proceed  in  order,  step 
by  step.  'T  is  as  easy  to  twist  iron  anchors,  and  braid  can 
nons,  as  to  braid  straw,  to  boil  granite  as  to  boil  water,  if  you 
take  all  the  steps  in  order.  Wherever  there  is  failure,  there 
is  some  giddiness,  some  superstition  about  luck,  some  step 
omitted,  which  Nature  never  pardons.  The  happy  conditions 
of  life  may  be  had  on  the  same  terms.  Their  attraction  for 
you  is  the  pledge  that  they  are  within  your  reach.  Our 
prayers  are  prophets.  There  must  be  fidelity,  and  there  must 


CONSIDERATIONS   BY   THE  WAY.  40  3 

be  adherence.  How  respectable  the  life  that  clings  to  its  ob 
jects!  Youthful  aspirations  are  fine  things,  your  theories 
and  plans  of  lite  are  fair  and  commendable  :  —  but  will  you 
stick(  Not  one,  1  fear,  in  that  Common  full  of  people,  or,  in 
a  thousand,  but  one  :  and  when  you  tax  them  \\ith  treachery, 
anil  remind  them  of  their  high  resolutions,  they  have  for 
gotten  that  they  made  a  vow.  The  individuals  are  fugit  ive, 
and  in  the  act  of  becoming  something  else,  and  irresponsible. 
The  race  is  great,  the  ideal  fair,  but  the  men  whittling  and 
unsure.  The  hero  is  he  who  is  immovably  centred.  The 
main  difference  between  people  seems  to  be,  that  one  man  can 
come  under  obligations  on  which  you  can  rely.  —  is  obligable  ; 
and  another  is  not.  As  he  lias  not  a  law  within  him,  there  's 
nothing  to  tie  him  to. 

T  is  inevitable  to  name  particulars  of  virtue,  and  of  con 
dition,  and  to  exaggerate  them.  But  all  rests  at  last  on  that 
integrity  which  dwarfs  talent,  and  can  spare  it.  Sanity  con 
sists  in  not  being  subdued  by  your  means.  Fancy  prices  are 
paid  for  position,  and  for  the  culture  of  talent,  but  to  the 
grand  interests,  superficial  success  is  of  no  account.  The 
man,  —  it  is  his  attitude,  —  not  feats,  but  forces,  —  not  on  set 
days  and  public  occasions,  but  at  all  hours,  and  in  repose  alike 
as  in  energy,  still  formidable,  and  not  to  be  disposed  of.  The 
populace  says,  with  Home  Tooke,  "  If  you  would  be  powerful, 
pretend  to  be  powerful."  I  prefer  to  say,  with  the  old  prophet, 
"  Seekest  thou  great  things  *?  seek  them  not "  :  —  or,  what  was 
said  of  a  Spanish  prince,  "  The  more  you  took  from  him,  the 
greater  he  looked."  Plus  on  lui  ote,  2}lus  il  est  grand. 

The  secret  of  culture  is  to  learn,  that  a  few  great  points 
steadily  reappear,  alike  in  the  poverty  of  the  obscurest  farm, 
and  in  the  miscellany  of  metropolitan  life,  and  that  these  few 
are  alone  to  be  regarded,  —  the  escape  from  all  false  ties ; 
courage  to  be  what  we  are ;  and  love  of  what  is  simple  and 
beautiful ;  independence,  and  cheerful  relation,  these  are  the 
essentials,  —  these,  and  the  wish  to  serve,  - —  to  add  somewhat 
to  the  well-being  of  men. 


VIII. 

BEAUTY. 


Was  never  form  and  never  faco 
So  sweet  t«>  SKVD  as  only  grace 
Which  did  nut  slumber  fike  a  stone 
But  hovered  gleaming  and  was  gone. 
Beauty  cha-cd  lie  everywhere, 
In  flame,  in  storm,  in  clouds  of  air. 
He  -mote  the  lake  to  feed  his  eye 

With  the  beryl  beam  of  the  broken  wave; 
He  filing  in  pebble*  well  to  hear 

The  moment's  mii^c  which  they  gave. 
Oft  pealed  for  him  a  lofty  tone 
From  nodding  pole  and  belting  zone. 
He  heard  a  voice  none  el-e  eoiild  hear 
From  centred  and  from  errant  sphere. 
The  quaking  earth  did  quake  in  rhyme, 
Seas  ebbed  and  flowed  in  epic  chime. 
In  dens  of  passion,  and  pits  of  woe, 
He  saw  strong  Kros  struggling  through, 
To  >nn  the  dark  and  solve  the  curse, 
And  beam  to  the  hounds  of  the  universe. 
While  thus  to  love  he  gave  his  days 
In  loyal  worship,  scorning  praise, 
How  spread  their  lures  for  him,  in  vain, 
Thieving  Ambition  and  paltering  Gain! 
He  thought  it  happier  to  be  dead, 
To  die  for  Beauty,  thivn,  live  for  bread. 


VOL.    II  20*  DD 


BEAUTY. 


THE  spiral  tendency  of  vegetation  infects  education  also. 
Our  books  approach  very  slowly  the  things  we  must  wish 
to  know.  What  a  parade  we  make  of  pur  science,  and  how 
far  oil',  and  at  arm's  length,  it*  is  from  its^ojbjccts  !  Our  botany 
is  all  names,  not  powers  :  poets  and  romancers  talk  of  herbs 
of  grace  and  healin.n  :  but  what  does  the  botanist  know  of  the 
virtues  of  his  weeds  I  The  geologist  lays  bare  the  strata,  and 
can  tell  them  all  on  his  fingers  :  but  does  he  know  what  effect 
gaggtsjnto  the  man  who  builds  his  house  in  them  ]  w'hat  effect; 
on  the  race  that  inhabits  a  granite  shelf  {  what  on  the  in 
habitants  of  marl  and  of  alluvium] 

We  should  go  to  the  ornithologist  with  a  new  feeling,  if  he 
could  teach  us  what  the  social  birds  say,  when  they  sit  in  the 
autumn  council,  talking  together  in  the  trees.  The  want  of 
sympathy  makes  his  record  a  dull  dictionary.  His  result  is 
a  dead  bird.  The  bird  is  not  in  its  ounces  and  inches,  but  in 
its  relations  to  Nature  ;  and  the  slun  or  skeleton  Ton  show 
me  is  no  more  a  heron,  than  a  heap  of  ashes  or  a  bottle  of 
gases  into  which  his  body  has  been  reduced,  is  Dante  or 
Washington.  The  naturalist  is  led  from  the  road-  by  the 
•whole  distance  of  his  fancied  advance.  'The  boy  had  juster 
views  when  he  gaxed  at  the  shells  on  the  beach,  or  the  flowers 
in  the  meadow,  unable  to  call  them  by  their  names,  than  the 
man  in  the  pride  of  his  nomenclature.  Astrology  intended 
us,  for  it  tied  man  to  the  system.  Instead  of  an  isolated  beg 
gar,  the  farthest  star  felt  him,  and  he  felt  the  star.  However 
rash  and  however  falsified  by  pretenders  and  traders  in  it,  the 
hint  was  tme  and  divine,  the  soul's  avowal  of  its  large  rela 
tions,  and  that  climate,  century,  remote  natures,  as  well  as 
near,  are  part  of  its  biography.  Chemistry  takes  to  pieces, 
but  it  does  not  construct.  Alchemy  which  sought  to  trans 


468  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

mute  one  element  into  another,  to  prolong  life,  to  arm  with 
power,  —  that  was  in  the  right  direction.  All  our  science 
lacks  a  human  side.  The  tenant  is  more  than  the  house. 
Bugs  and  stamens  and  spores,  on  which  we  lavish  so  many 
years,  are  not  finalities,  and  man,  when  his  powers  unfold  in 
order,  will  take  Nature  along  with  him,  and  emit  light  into  all 
her  recesses.  The  human  heart  concerns  us  more  than  the 
poring  into  miscroscopes,  and  is  larger  than  can  be  measured 
by  the  pompous  figures  of  the  astronomer. 

We  are  just  so  frivolous  and  sceptical.  Men  hold  them 
selves  cheap  and  vile  :  and  yet  a  man  is  a  fagot  of  thunder 
bolts.  All  the  elements  pour  through  his  system  :  he  is  the 
flood  of  the  flood,  and  fire  of  the  fire  ;  he  feels  the  antipodes 
and  the  pole,  as  drops  of  his  blood  :  they  are  the  extension  of 
his  personality.  His  duties  are  measured  by  that  instrument 
he  is  ;  and  a  right  and  perfect  man  would  be  felt  to  the  centre 
of  the  Copernican  system.  'T  is  curious  that  we  only  believe 
as  deep  as  we  live.  We  do  not  think  heroes  can  exert  any 
more  awful  power  than  that  surface-play  which  amuses  us.  A 
deep  man  believes  in  miracles,  waits  for  them,  believes  in 
magic,  believes  that  the  orator  will  decompose  his  adversary  ; 
believes  that  the  evil  eye  can  wither,  that  the  heart's  blessing 
can  heal ;  that  love  can  exalt  talent ;  can  overcome  all  odds. 
From  a  great  heart  secret  magnetisms  flow  incessantly  to  draw 
great  events.  But  we  prize  very  humble  utilities,  a  prudent 
husband,  a  good  son,  a  voter,  a  citizen,  and  deprecate  any 
romance  of  character  ;  and  perhaps  reckon  only  his  money 
value,  —  his  intellect,  his  affection,  as  a  sort  of  bill  of  ex 
change,  easily  convertible  into  fine  chambers,  pictures,  music, 
and  wine. 

The  motive  of  science  was  the  extension  of  man,  on  all 
sides,  into  Nature,  till  his  hands  should  touch  the  stars,  his 
eyes  see  through  the  earth,  his  ears  understand  the  language 
of  beast  and  bird,  and  the  sense  of  the  wind ;  and,  through  his 
sympathy,  heaven  and  earth  should  talk  with  him.  But  that 
is  not  our  science.  These  geologies,  chemistries,  astronomies, 
seem  to  make  wise,  but  they  leave  us  where  they  found  us. 
The  invention  is  of  use  to  the  inventor,  of  questionable  help 
to  any  other.  The  formulas  of  science  are  like  the  papers  in 
your  pocket-book,  of  no  value  to  any  but  the  owner.  Science 
in  England,  in  America,  is  jealous  of  theory,  hates  the  name 
of  love  and  moral  purpose.  There  's  a  revenge  for  this  inhu 
manity.  What  manner  of  man  does  science  make  ?  The  boy 


BEAUTY.  469 

is  not  attracted.  He  says,  I  do  not  wish  to  be  such  a  kind  of 
man  as  my  professor  is.  The  collector  lias  dried  all  the  plant* 
in  liis  herbal,  Imt  he  has  lost  weight  and  humor.  He  lias  ^<>t  all 
snakes  and  lizards  in  his  phials,  hut  science  lias  done  for  him 
also,  and  h;ts  put  the  man  into  a  liottle.  Our  reliance  on  tho 
physician  is  a  kind  of  despair  of  ourselves.  The  cleriry  have 
bronchitis,  \\hich  docs  imt  seem  a  certificate  of  spiritual  health. 
Mai-ready  thought  it  came  of'thejfefretfo  of  their  voicing.  An 
Indian  prince,  Tisso,  one  day  riding  in  the  forest,  saw  a  herd 
of  elk  sporting.  "Sec  how  happy,"  he  said,  "these  browsing 
elks  are  !  Why  should  not  priests,  lodged  and  fed  comfortably 
in  the  temples,  also  amuse  themselves  ] "  Returning  home, 
he  imparted  this  reflection  to  the  king.  The  king,  on  the 
next  day,  conferred  the  sovereignty  on  him,  saying,  "  Prince, 
administer  this  empire  for  seven  days  :  at  the  termination  of 
that  period,  I  shall  put  thee  to  death."  At  the  end  of  the 
seventh  day,  the  king  inquired,  "  From  what  cause  hast  thou 
become  so  emaciated  ?  "  He  answered,  "  From  the  horror  of 
death."  The  monarch  rejoined:  "Live,  my  child,  and  be 
wise.  Thou  hast  ceased  to  take  recreation,  saying  to  thyself, 
In  seven  days  I  shall  be  put  to  death.  These  priests  in  tho 
temple  incessantly  meditate  on  death  ;  how  can  they  enter 
into  healthful  diversions]"  But  the  men  of  science  or  the 
doctors  or  the  clergy  are  not  victims  of  their  pursuits,  more 
than  others.  The  miller,  the  lawyer,  and  the  merchant  dedi 
cate  themselves  to  their  own  details,  and  do  not  come  out 
men  of  more  force.  Have  they  divination,  grand  aims,  hospi 
tality  of  soul,-  and  the  equality  to  any  event,  which  we  demand 
in  man,  or  only  the  reactions  of  the  mill,  of  the  wares,  of  the 
chicane  ] 

No  object  really  interests  us  but  man,  and  in  man  onlv  his 
superiorities ;  and  though  we  are  aware  of  a  perfect  "law  in 
Nature,  it  has  fascination  for  us  only  through  Rarelation  to 
him,  or,  as  it  is  rooted  in  the  mind.  \\t  the  birth  of  \Vinekel- 
maini,  more  than  a  hundred  years  :igo,  side  by  side  with  this 
arid,  departmental,  i»*t-initrti-tii  science,  rose  an  enthusiasm  in 
the  study  of  Beauty  ;  and  perhaps  some  sparks  from  it  may 
yet  light  a  eoafiagffction  in  the  other.  Knowledge  of  men, 
knowledge  of  manners,  the  power  of  torm,  and  our  sensibility 
to  personal  influence,  never  LT<>  out  of  tashimi.  These  are  facts 
of  a  science  which  we  study  without  book,  whose  teachers  and 
subjects  are  always  near  us. 

So  inveterate  is  our  habit  of  criticism,  that  much  of  our 


470  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

knowledge  m  this  direction  belongs  to  the  chapter  of  pathol- 
o"  The  crowd  in  the  street  oftener  furnishes  degradations 
than  aiK-els  or  redeemers;  but  they  all  prove  the  transparency. 
Every  spirit  makes  its  house  ;  and  we  can  give  a  shrew I  guess 
from  the  house  to  the  inhabitant.  But  not  ess  does  Na  e 
furnish  us  with  every  sign  of  g™ce  and  goodness  The  d 
cious  faces  of  children,  the  beauty  of  school-girls  "  the  sweet 
seriousness  of  sixteen,"  the  lofty  air  of  ™k^weB-brtd 
boys,  the  passionate  histories  m  the  looks  and  mam  ers  ot 
Jouth  andPcarly  manhood,  and  the  varied  power  m  all  hat 
well-known  company  that  escort  us  through  life,  —  we  I 
how  these  forms  thrill,  paralyze,  provoke,  inspire,  and  enlarge 

USBeautv  is  the  form  under  which  the  intellect  prefers  to  study 
the  world  All  privilege  is  that  of  beauty;  for  there  are  many 
teluties  as,  of  generaf  nature,  of  the  human  face  and  form  of 
manners,'  of  brain,  or  method,  moral  beauty,  or  beauty  of  the 

S°  The  ancients  believed  that  a  genius  or  demon  took  posses 
sion  at  brth  of  each  mortal,  to  guide  him;  that  these  genu 
Tere  sometimes  seen  as  a  flame  of  fire  partly  immersed  ,n  the 
bodies  which  they  governed; -on  an  evil  man .resting  on  hi, 
head-    in   a   good   man,    mixed   with   his   substance, 
thought  the  same  genius,  at  the  death  of  ^-^   entered  a 
new-born  child,  and  they  pretended  to  i guess  the  p do t  b j  the 
sailin"  of  the  ship.     We  recognize  obscurely  the  same  1 
tho    'h  we  give  it  our  own  names.     We  say,  that  every  man 
I  s  er^itled  to  be  valued  by  his  best  moment     We  measure  ou 
friends  so.     We  know,  they  have  mterva^£    ^±rlich 
tike  no  heed,  but  wait  the  reappearmgs  of  the  genius,  win 
arc  sure  and  beautiful.     On  the  other  side,  everybody  knows 
peopl    who  appear  bedridden,  and  who  with  all  degrees  of 
abilitv,  never  impress  us  with  the  air  of  free  agency.     They 
know  it  too  and  peep  with  their  eyes  to  see  if  you  detect  the  r 
know  it  too,  an     pwp  pronounce  the  solving  word, 

fiwdom      The  remedy  seems  never  to  be  far  off,  since  the 
tep  Ito  thoiight  lifts  this  mountain  of  necessity.     Though 

and  power  await  him. 


BEAUTY.  471 

The  question  of  Beauty  takes  us  out  of  surfaces,  to  think- 
in  ,L'  <>f  thr  foundation*  of  things.  (loethe  said  :  "The  beautiful 
is  a  manifestation  of  secret  laws  of  Nature,  which,  hut  for 
this  appearance,  had  been  forever  concealed  from  us."  And 
the  working  of  this  deep  instinct  makes  all  the  excitement  — 
much  «>f  it  superficial  and  aksurd  enough  —  about  works  of  art, 
which  leads  armies  of  vain  travellers  everv  year  to  Italy,  (} recce, 
and  Kgypt.  Kvery  man  values  every  acquisition  he  makes  in 
th«-  science  of  beauty,  above  his  possessions.  The  most  use 
ful  man  in  the  most  useful  world,  so  long  as  only  commodity 
was  served,  would  remain  unsatisfied.  But,  as  fast  as  he  sees 
beauty,  life  acquires  a  very  high  value. 

I  am  warned  by  the  ill  fate  of  many  philosophers  not  to 
attempt  a  definition  of  Beauty.  I  will  rather  enumerate  a 
few  of  its  qualities.  We  ascribe  beauty  to  that  which  is 
simple;  which  has  no  superfluous  parts;  which  exactly  an 
swers  its  end ;  which  stands  related  to  all  things  ;  which  is 
the  mean  of  many  extremes.  It  is  the  most  enduring  qual 
ity,  and  the  most  ascending  quality.  "\Yc  say  love  is  blind, 
and  the  figure  of  Cupid  is  drawn  with  a  bandage  round  his 
eyes.  Blind: —  yes.  because  he  does  not  see  what  he  does 
not  like  ;  but  the  sharpest-flighted  hunter  in  the  universe  is 
Love,  for  finding  what  he  seeks,  and  only  that  ;  and  the  my- 
thologists  tell  us,  that  Vulcan  was  painted  lame,  and  Cupid 
blind,  to  call  attention  to  the  fact,  that  one  was  all  limbs,  and 
the  other,  all  eyes.  In  the  true  mythology,  Love  is  an  im 
mortal  child,  and  Beauty  leads  him  as  a  guide:  nor  can  \\e 
express  a  deeper  sense  than  when  we  say,  Beauty  is  the  pilot 
of  the  young  soul. 

Beyond  their  sensuous  delight,  the  forms  and  colors  of  Na 
ture  have  a  new  charm  for  us  in  our  perception,  that  not  one 
ornament  was  added  for  ornament,  but  each  is  a  sign  of  some 
brtter  health,  or  more  excellent  action.  Kh-ganci-  of  form  in 
bird  or  beast,  or  in  the  human  figure,  marks  some  excellence 
of  structure  :  or  beauty  is  only  an  invitation  from  what  be 
longs  to  us.  T  is  a  law  of  botany,  that  in  plants,  the  same 
virtues  follow  the  same  forms.  It  is  a  rule  of  largest  applira- 
\  tion,  true  in  a  plant,  true  in  a  loaf  of  bread,  that  in  tin-  OOn- 
stniction  of  any  fabric  or  organism,  any  real  increase  of 
fitness  to  its  end,  is  an  increase  of  beauty. 

The  less. .n  tauirht  by  the  study  of  (Jreek  and  of  (Jothic 
art,  of  antique  and  of  Pre-Raphaelite  painting,  was  worth  all 
the  research,  —  namely,  that  all  beauty  must  be  organic; 


472  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

|  that  outside  embellishment  is  deformity.  It  is  the  sound 
ness  of  the  bones  that  ultimates  itself  in  a  peach-bloom  com 
plexion  :  health  of  constitution  that  makes  the  sparkle  and 
the  power  of  the  eye.  'T  is  the  adjustment  of  the  size  and  of 
the  joining  of  the  sockets  of  the  skeleton,  that  gives  grace 
of  outline  and  the  finer  grace  of  movement.  The  cat  and  the 
deer  cannot  move  or  sit  inelegantly.  The  dancing-master  can 
never  teach  a  badly  built  man  to  walk  well.  The  tint  of  the 
flower  proceeds  from  its  root,  and  the  lustres  of  the  sea-shell 
begin  with  its  existence.  Hence  our  taste  in  building  rejects 
paint,  and  all  shifts,  and  shows  the  original  grain  of  the  wood  : 
refuses  pilasters  and  columns  that  support  nothing,  and  allows 
the  real  supporters  of  the  house  honestly  to  show  themselves. 

•  Every  necessary  or  organic  action  pleases  the  beholder.  A 
man  leading  a  horse  to  water,  a  farmer  sowing  seed,  the  labors 
of  haymakers  in  the  field,  the  carpenter  building  a  ship,  the 
smith  at  his  forge,  or,  whatever  useful  labor,  is  becoming  to 

/the  wise  eye.  But  if  it  is  done  to  be  seen,  it  is  mean.  How 
beautiful  are  ships  on  the  sea  !  but  ships  in  the  theatre,  —  or 
ships  kept  for  picturesque  effect  on  Virginia  Water,  by  George 
IV.,  and  men  hired  to  stand  in  fitting  costumes  at  a  penny  an 
hour!  —  What  a  difference  in  effect  between  a  battalion  of 
troops  marching  to  action,  and  one  of  our  independent  compa 
nies  on  a  holiday !  In  the  midst  of  a  military  show,  and  a 
festal  procession  gay  with  banners,  I  saw  a  boy  seize  an  old 
tin  pan  that  lay  resting  under  a  wall,  and  poising  it  on  the 
top  of  a  stick,  he  set  it  turning,  and  made  it  describe  the 
most  elegant  imaginable  curves,  and  drew  away  attention  from 
the  decorated  procession  by  this  startling  beauty. 

Another  text  from  the  mythologists.  The  Greeks  fabled 
that  Venus  was  born  of  the  foam  of  the  sea.  Nothing  inter 
ests  us  which  is  stark  or  bounded,  but  only  what  streams  with 
life,  what  is  in  act  or  endeavor  to  reach  somewhat  beyond. 
The  pleasure  a  palace  or  a  temple  gives  the  eye,  is,  that  an 
order  and  method  has  been  communicated  to  stones,  so  that 
they  speak  and  geometrize,  become  tender  or  sublime  with  ex 
pression.  Beauty  is  the  moment  of  transition,  as  if  the  form 
were  just  ready  to  flow  into  other  forms.  Any  fixedness, 
heaping,  or  concentration  on  one  feature,  —  a  long  nose,  a 
sharp  chin,  a  hump-back,  —  is  the  reverse  of  the  flowing,  and 
therefore  deformed.  Beautiful  as  is  the  symmetry  of  any  form, 
if  the  form  can  move,  we  seek  a  more  excellent  symmetry. 
The  interruption  of  equilibrium  stimulates  the  eye  to  desire 


BEAUTY.  473 

the  restoration  of  symmetry,  and  to  watch  the  steps  through 
•which  it  is  attained.  This  is  the  charm  of  running  water,  sea- 
waves,  tlie  flight  of  birds,  and  the  locomotion  of  animals.  This 
is  the  theory  of  dancing,  to  recover  continually  in  changes  the 
lost  equilibrium,  uot  by  abrupt  and  angular,  but  by  gradual 
and  curving  movements.  I  have  been  told  by  persons  of  ex 
perience  in  matters  of  taste,  that  the  fashions  follow  a  law  <>f 
gradation,  and  are  never  arbitrary.  The  new  mode  is  always 
only  a  step  onward  in  the  same  direction  as  the  last  mode ; 
and  a  cultivated  eye  is  prepared  for  and  predicts  the  new 
fashion.  This  fact  suggests  the  reason  of  all  mistakes  and  of 
fence  in  our  own  modes.  It  is  necessary  in  music,  when  you 
strike  a  discord,  to  let  down  the  ear  by  an  intermediate  note 
or  two  to  the  accord  again  :  and  many  a  good  experiment, 
born  of  good  sense,  and  destined  to  succeed,  fails,  only  be 
cause  it  is  offensively  sudden.  I  suppose,  the  Parisian  milli 
ner  who  dresses  the  world  from  her  imperious  boudoir,  will 
know  how  to  reconcile  the  Bloomer  costume  to  the  eye  of 
mankind,  and  make  it  triumphant  over  Punch  himself,  by  in 
terposing  the  just  gradations.  I  need  not  say  how  wide  the 
same  law  ranges  ;  and  how  much  it  can  be  hoped  to  effect. 
All  that  is  a  little  harshly  claimed  by  progressive  parties  may 
easily  come  to  be  conceded  without  question,  if  this  rule  be 
observed.  Thus  the  circumstances  may  be  easily  imagined, 
in  which  woman  may  speak,  vote,  argue  causes,  legislate,  and 
drive  a  coach,  and  all  the  most  naturally  in  the  world,  if  only 
it  come  by  degrees.  To  this  streaming  or  flowing  belongs  the 
beauty  that  all  circular  movement  has ;  as,  the  circulation  of 
waters,  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  the  periodical  motion  of 
planets,  the  annual  wave  of  vegetation,  the  action  and  reac 
tion  of  Nature  ;  and,  if  we  follow  it  out,  this  demand  in  our 
thought  for  an  ever-onward  action  is  the  argument  for  the 
immortality. 

One  more  text  from  the  mythologists  is  to  the  same  purpose, 
—  Bediitii  riilts  <>)>  'i  linn.  Heautv  rests  on  necessities.  The 
line  of  beauty  is  the  result  of  perfect  economy.  The  cell  of 
the  bee  is  built  at  that  angle  which  gives  the  most  strength 
with  the  least  wax  ;  the  bone  or  the  quill  of  the  bird  gives  the 
most  alar  strength  with  the  least  weight.  "  It  is  the  purga 
tion  of  superfluities,"  said  Michel  Angelo.  There  is  not  a 
particle  to  spare  in  natural  structures.  There  is  a  compelling 
reason  in  the  uses  of  the  plant,  for  every  novelty  of  color  or 
form  :  and  our  art  saves  material,  by  more  skilful  arrangement, 


474  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

and  reaches  beauty  by  taking  every  superfluous  ounce  that  can 
be  spared  from  a  wall,  and  keeping  all  its  strength  in  the 
poetry  of  columns.  In  rhetoric,  this  art  of  omission  is  a  chief 
secret  of  power,  and,  in  general,  it  is  proof  of  high  culture,  to 
say  the  greatest  matters  in  the  simplest  way. 

Veracity  first  of  all,  and  forever.  Rien  de  beau  que  le  vrai. 
In  all  design,  art  lies  in  making  your  object  prominent,  but 
there  is  a  prior  art  in  choosing  objects  that  are  prominent. 
The  fine  arts  have  nothing  casual,  but  spring  from  the  instincts 
of  the  nations  that  created  them. 

Beauty  is  the  quality  which  makes  to  endure.  In  a  house 
that  I  know,  I  have  noticed  a  block  of  spermaceti  lying  about 
closets  and  mantel-pieces,  for  twenty  years  together,  simply 
because  the  tallow-man  gave  it  the  form  of  a  rabbit ;  and,  I 
suppose,  it  may  continue  to  be  lugged  about  unchanged  for  a 
century.  Let  an  artist  scrawl  a  few  lines  or  figures  on  the 
back  of  a  letter,  and  that  scrap  of  paper  is  rescued  from  danger, 
is  put  in  portfolio,  is  framed  and  glazed,  and,  in  proportion 
to  the  beauty  of  the  lines  drawn,  will  be  kept  for  centuries. 
Burns  writes  a  copy  of  verses,  and  sends  them  to  a  newspaper, 
and  the  human  race  take  charge  of  them  that  they  shall  not 
perish. 

As  the  flute  is  heard  farther  than  the  cart,  see  how  surely  a 
beautiful  form  strikes  the  fancy  of  men,  and  is  copied  and  re 
produced  .  without  end.  How  many  copies  are  there  of  the 
Belvedere  Apollo,  the  Venus,  the  Psyche,  the  Warwick  Vase, 
the  Parthenon,  and  the  Temple  of  Vesta  ?  These  are  objects 
of  tenderness  to  all.  In  our  cities,  an  ugly  building  is  soon 
removed,  and  is  never  repeated,  but  any  beautiful  building  is 
copied  and  improved  upon,  so  that  all  masons  and  carpenters 
work  to  repeat  and  preserve  the  agreeable  forms,  whilst  the 
ugly  ones  die  out. 

The  felicities  of  design  in  art,  or  in  works  of  Nature,  are 
shadows  or  forerunners  of  that  beauty  which  reaches  its  per 
fection  in  the  human  form.  All  men  are  its  lovers.  Wherever 
it  goes,  it  creates  joy  and  hilarity,  and  everything  is  permitted 
to  it.  It  reaches  its  height  in  woman.  "  To  Eve,"  say  the 
Mahometans,  "  God  gave  two  thirds  of  all  beauty."  A  beauti 
ful  woman  is  a  practical  poet,  taming  her  savage  mate,  plant 
ing  tenderness,  hope,  and  eloquence  in  all  whom  she  ap 
proaches.  Some  favors  of  condition  must  go  with  it,  since  a 
certain  serenity  is  essential,  but  we  love  its  reproofs  and  su 
periorities.  Nature  wishes  that  woman  should  attract  man, 


BEAUTY.  475 

yet  she  often  cunningly  moulds  into  her  face  a  little  sarcasm, 
which  seems  to  say,  •  Yes,  1  am  willing  to  attract,  but  to  at 
tract  a  little  better  kind  of  man  than  any  I  yet  behold.' 
Frenrh  w  <?'///"//>  .<  of  the  fifteenth  century  celebrate  the  name 
of  Pauline  de  Yiguiere,  a  virtuous  and  accomplished  maiden, 
who  so  tired  the  enthusiasm  of  her  contemporaries,  by  her  en 
chanting  f«»rm,  that  the  citizens  of  her  native  city  of  Toulouse 
obtained  the  aid  of  the  civil  authorities  to  compel  her  to  ap 
pear  publicly  on  the  balcony  at  least  twice  a  week,  and,  as 
often  as  she  showed  herself,  the  crowd  was  dangerous  to  life. 
Not  less,  in  England,  in  the  last  century,  was  the  lame  of  the 
Gunnings,  of  whom  Kli/abeth  married  the  Duke  of  Hamilton  ; 
and  Maria,  the  Earl  of  Coventry.  Walpole  Baya  :  u  The  con 
course  was  so  great,  when  the  Duchess  of  Hamilton  was  pre 
sented  at  court,  on  Friday,  that  even  the  noble  crowd  in  the 
drawing-room  clambered  on  chairs  and  tables  to  look  at  her. 
There  are  mobs  at  their  doors  to  see  them  get  into  their  chairs, 
and  people  go  early  to  get  places  at  the  theatres,  when  it  is 
known  they  will  be  there."  "Such  crowds,"  he  adds,  else 
where-,  "  ilork  to  see  the  Duchess  of  Hamilton,  that  seven 
hundred  people  sat  up  all  night,  in  and  about  an  inn,  in  York 
shire,  to  see  her  get  into  her  post-chaise  next  morning." 

But  whv  need  we  console  ourselves  with  the  fames  of  Helen 
of  Argos,  or  Corinna,  or  Pauline  of  Toulouse,  or  the  Duchess 
of  Hamilton  ]  We  all  know  this  magic  very  well,  or  can  di 
vine  it.  It  does  not  hurt  weak  eyes  to  look  into  beautiful 
eyes  never  so  lonir.  Women  stand  related  to  beautiful  Nature 
around  us,  and  the  enamored  youth  mixes  their  form  with 
moon  and  stars,  with  woods  and  waters,  and  the  pomp  of  sum 
mer.  They  heal  us  of  awkwardness  by  their  words  and  looks. 
We  observe  their  intellectual  influence  on  the  most  serious 
student.  They  refine  and  clear  his  mind  ;  teach  him  to  put  a 
pleasing  method  into  what  is  dry  and  difficult.  We  talk  to 
them  and  wish  to  be  listened  to  ;  we  fear  to  fatigue  them,  and 
acquire  a  facility  of  expression  which  passes  from  conversation, 
into  habit  of  style. 

That  Beauty  is  the  normal  state,  is  shown  by  the  perpetual 
effort  of  Nature  to  attain  it.  Mirabeau  had  an  uirly  face  on 
a  handsome  ground  ;  and  we  see  f:n-rs  0Y6TJ  dav  which  have  a 
good  type,  but  have  been  marred  in  the  casting:  a  proof  that 
we  are  all  entitled  to  beauty,  should  have  been  beautiful,  if 
our  ancestors  had  kept  the  laws,  —  as  every  lily  and  • 
rose  is  well.  But  our  bodies  do  not  fit  us,  but  caricature  and 


476  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

satirize  us.  Thus,  short  legs,  which  constrain  to  short,  min 
cing  steps,  are  a  kind  of  personal  insult  and  contumely  to  the 
owner ;  and  long  stilts,  again,  put  him  at  perpetual  disadvan 
tage,  and  force  him  to  stoop  to  the  general  level  of  mankind. 
Martial  ridicules  a  gentleman  of  his  day  whose  countenance 
resembled  the  face  of  a  swimmer  seen  under  water.  Saadi 
describes  a  schoolmaster  "  so  ugly  and  crabbed,  that  a  sight 
of  him  would  derange  the  ecstasies  of  the  orthodox."  Faces 
are  rarely  true  to  any  ideal  type,  but  are  a  record  in  sculpture 
of  a  thousand  anecdotes  of  whim  and  folly.  Portrait  painters 
say  that  most  faces  and  forms  are  irregular  and  unsymmetrical  ; 
have  one  eye  blue,  and  one  gray  ;  the  nose  not  straight ;  and 
one  shoulder  higher  than  another ;  the  hair  unequally  distrib 
uted,  etc.  The  man  is  physically  as  well  as  metaphysically  a 
thing  of  shreds  and  patches,  borrowed  unequally  from  good 
and  bad  ancestors,  and  a  misfit  from  the  start. 

A  beautiful  person,  among  the  Greeks,  was  thought  to  betray 
by  this  sign  some  secret  favor  of  the  immortal  gods ;  and  we 
can  pardon  pride,  when  a  woman  possesses  such  a  figure,  that 
wherever  she  stands,  or  moves,  or  throws  a  shadow  on  the  wall, 
or  sits  for  a  portrait  to  the  artist,  she  confers  a  favor  on  the 
world.  And  yet  —  it  is  not  beauty  that  inspires  the  deepest 
passion.  Beauty  without  grace  is  the  hook  without  the  bait. 
Beauty,  without  expression,  tires.  Abbe  Menage  said  of  the 
President  Le  Bailleul,  "  that  he  was  fit  for  nothing  tout  to  sit 
for  his  portrait."  A  Greek  epigram  intimates  that  the  force 
of  love  is  not  shown  by  the  courting  of  beauty,  but  when  the 
like  desire  is  inflamed  for  one  who  is  ill-favored.  And  petulant 
old  gentlemen,  who  have  chanced  to  suifer  some  intolerable 
weariness  from  pretty  people,  or  who  have  seen  cut  flowers  to 
some  profusion,  or  who  see,  after  a  world  of  pains  have  been 
successfully  taken  for  the  costume,  how  the  least  mistake  in 
sentiment  takes  all  the  beauty  out  of  your  clothes,  —  affirm, 

•  that  the  secret  of  ugliness  consists  not  in  irregularity,  but  in 

;  being  uninteresting. 

We  love  any  forms,  however  ugly,  from  which  great  qualities 
shine.  If  command,  eloquence,  art,  or  invention  exist  in  the 
most  deformed  person,  all  the  accidents  that  usually  displease, 
please,  and  raise  esteem  and  wronder  higher.  The  great  orator 
was  an  emaciated,  insignificant  person,  but  he  was  all  brain. 
Cardinal  De  Retz  says  of  De  Bouillon,  "  With  the  physiognomy 
of  an  ox,  he  had  the  perspicacity  of  an  eagle."  It  was  said  of 
Hooke,  the  friend  of  Newton,  "  He  is  the  mostv  and  promises 


BEAUTY.  477 

the  least,  of  any  man  in  Kngland."  "  Since  I  am  so  ugly/' 
said  1'u  (Jueselin,  "it  behooves  that  I  be  bold."  Sir  Philip 
Sidnev,  the  darling  of  mankind,  Hen  .lonson  tells  us,  "  was  no 
pit  a>ant  man  in  count rnaiu-e,  liis  face  being  spoiled  with  pim 
ples,  and  of  high  blood,  and  long."  Those  who  have  ruled 
human  destinies,  like  planets,  for  thousands  of  years,  were  not 
handsome  men.  If  a  man  can  raise  a  small  city  to  he  a  great 
kingdom,  can  make  bread  cheap,  can  irrigate  deserts,  can  join 
oceans  by  canals,  can  subdue  steam,  can  organize  victory,  can 
lead  the  opinions  of  mankind,  can  enlarge  knowledge,  'tis  no 
matter  whether  his  no>e  is  parallel  to  his  spine,  as  it  ought  to 
f  whether  he  has  a  nose  at.  all  ;  whether  his  legs  are 
straight,  or  whether  his  legs  are  amputated  ;  his  deformities 
will  come  to  be  reckoned  ornamental  and  advantageous  on  the 

whole.     This  is  the-  triumph  <>f  expression,  degrading  beauty, 

charming  us  with  a  power  so  tine  and  friendly  and  intoxicating, 
that  it  makes  admired  persons  insipid,  and  the  thought  of 
passing  our  lives  with  them  insupportable.  There  are  faces  so 
iluid  with  expression,  so  flushed  and  rippled  by  the  play  of 
thought,  that  we  can  hardly  find  what  the  mere  features  really 
are.  When  the  delicious  beauty  of  lineaments  loses  its  power, 
it  is  because  a  more  delicious  beauty  has  appeared  :  that  an 
interior  and  durable  form  has  been  disclosed.  Still,  Beauty 
rides  on  her  lion,  as  before.  Still,  "  it  was  for  beauty  that  the 
world  was  made."  The  lives  of  the  Italian  artists,  who  estab 
lished  a  despotism  of  genius  amidst  the  dukes  and  kings  and 
mobs  of  their  stormy  epoch,  prove  how  loyal  men  in  all  times 
are  to  a  finer  brain,  a  tiner  method,  than  their  own.  If  a  man 
can  cut  such  a  head  on  his  stone  g:.ti--j.«.st  as  shall  draw  and 
keep  a  crowd  about  it  all  day,  by  its  grace,  good-nature,  and 
inscrutable  meaning  ;  —  if  a  man  ca n  build  a  plain  cotl.-.ue  with 
such  symmetry,  as  to  make  all  the  fine  palaces  look  cheap  and 
vulgar;  Can  take  such  advantage  of  Nature  that  all  her  powers 
serve  him  ;  making  use  of  geometry,  instead  of  expense  ;  tap 
ping  a  mountain  for  his  water-jet  :  causing  the  sun  and  moon 
in  only  the  decorations  of  his  estate  :  this  is  still  the 
legitimate  dominion  of  beauty. 

The  radiance  of  the  human  form,  though  sometinu  s  u-toii- 
isliiiiir,  is  only  a  burst  of  beauty  f,  .r  a  few  years  or  a  few 
months,  at  the  perfeetion  of  youth,  and  in  most,  rapidly  de 
clines.  But  we  remain  lovers  of  it,  only  transferri; 
interest  to  interior  excellence.  And  it  is  not  only  admirable 
in  singular  and  salient  talents,  but  also  in  the  world  of  manners. 


478  CONDUCT   OF   LIFE. 

But  the  sovereign  attribute  remains  to  be  noted.  Things 
are  pretty,  graceful,  rich,  elegant,  handsome,  but,  until  they 
speak  to  the  imagination,  not  yet  beautiful.  This  is  the  reason 
why  beauty  is  still  escaping  out  of  all  analysis.  It  is  not  yet 
possessed,  it  cannot  be  handled.  Proclus  says,  "  It  swims  on 
the  light  of  forms,"  It  is  properly  not  in  the  form,  but  in  the 
mind.  It  instantly  deserts  possession,  and  flies  to  an  object  in 
the  horizon.  If  I  could  put  my  hand  on  the  north  star,  would 
it  be  as  beautiful  1  The  sea  is  lovely,  but  when  we  bathe  in 
it,  the  beauty  forsakes  all  the  near  water.  For  the  imagina 
tion  and  senses  cannot  be  gratified  at  the  same  time.  Words 
worth  rightly  speaks  of  "  a  light  that_  never  was  on  sea  or 
land,"  meaning,  that  it  was  supplied  by  the  observer,  and  the 
Welsh  bard  warns  his  countrywomen,  that 

"  Half  of  their  charms  with  Cadwallon  shall  die." 

The  new  virtue  which  constitutes  a  thing  beautiful  is  a  cer 
tain  cosmical  quality,  or,  a  power  to  suggest  relation  to  the 
whole  world,  and  so  lift  the  object  out  of  a  pitiful  individuality. 
Every  natural  feature  —  sea,  sk}T,  rainbow,  flowers,  musical 
tone  —  has  in  it  somewhat  which  is  not  private,  but  universal, 
speaks  of  that  central  benefit  which  is  the  soul  of  Nature,  and 
thereby  is  beautiful.  And,  in  chosen  men  and  women,  I  find 
somewhat  in  form,  speech,  and  manners,  which  is  not  of  their 
person  and  family,  but  of  a  humane,  catholic,  and  spiritual 
character,  and  we  love  them  as  the  sky.  They  have  a  large 
ness  of  suggestion,  and  their  face  and  manners  carry  a  certain 
grandeur,  like  time  and  justice. 

The  feat  of  the  imagination  is  in  showing  the  convertibility 
of  everything  into  every  other  thing.  Facts  which  had  never 
before  left  their  stark  common  sense  suddenly  figure  as  Eleu- 
sinian  mysteries.  My  boots  and  chair  and  candlestick  are  fairies 
in  disguise,  meteors  and  constellations.  All  the  facts  in  Nature 
are  nouns  of  the  intellect,  and  make  the  grammar  of  the 
eternal  language.  Every  word  has  a  double,  treble,  or  centuple 
use  and  meaning.  What !  has  my  stove  and  pepper-pot  a  false 
bottom  !  I  cry  you  mercy,  good  shoe-box  !  I  did  not  know  you 
were  a  jewel-case.  Chaff  and  dust  begin  to  sparkle,  and  are 
clothed  about  with  immortality.  And  there. is  a  joy  in  per 
ceiving  the  representative  or  symbolic  character  of  a  fact,  which 
no  bare  fact  or  event  can  ever  give.  There  are  no  days  in  life 
so  memorable  as  those  which  vibrated  to  some  stroke  of  the 
imagination. 


BEAUTY.  479 

The  poets  are  quite  right  in  decking  their  mistresses  with 
the  spoils  of  the  landscape,  flower  pinions,  Lrenis,  rainbows, 
flushes  of  morning,  and  stars  of  night,  since  all  beauty  points 
at  identity,  and  whatsoever  thing  does  not  express  to  me  the 
sea  and  sky,  day  and  night,  is  somewhat  forbidden  and  wrong. 
Into  every  beautiful  object  there  enters  somewhat  immeasura 
ble  and  divine,  and  just  as  much  into  form  bounded  by  out 
lines,  like  mountains  on  the  horizon,  as  into  tones  of  music,  or 
depths  of  space.  Polari/.ed  light  showed  the  secret  architecture 
of  bodies  ;  and  when  the  tKoml+iffkt  of  the  mind  is  opened, 
now  one  color  or  form  or  gesture,  and  now  another,  has  a  pun 
gency,  as  if  a  more  interior  ray  had  been  emitted,  disclosing  its 
deep  holdings  in  the  frame  of  things. 

The  laws  of  this  translation  we  do  not  know,  or  why  one 
feature  or  gesture  enchants,  why  one  word  or  syllable  intoxi 
cates,  but  the  fact  is  familiar  that  the  fine  touch  of  the  eye, 
or  a  grace  of  manners,  or  a  phrase  of  poetry,  plants  wings  at 
our  shoulders  ;  as  if  the  Divinity,  in  his  approaches,  lifts  away 
mountains  of  obstruction,  and  deigns  to  draw  a  truer  line, 
which  the  mind  knows  and  owns.  This  is  that  haughty  force 
of  beauty,  "  y/x  *iijnrlxi  fnn/iit-,"  which  the  poets  praise, — • 
under  calm  and  precise  outline,  the  immeasurable  and  divine  • 
Beauty  hiding  all  wisdom  and  power  in  its  calm  sky. 

All  high  beauty  has  a  moral  element  in  it,  and  I  find  the 
antique  sculpture  as  ethical  as  Marcus  Antoninus  :  and  the 
beauty  ever  in  proportion  to  the  depth  of  thought.  Gross  and 
obscure  natures,  however  decorated,  seem  impure  shambles  ; 
but  character  gives  splendor  to  youth,  and  awe  to  wrinkled 
i'skin  and  gray  hairs.  An  adorer  of  truth  we  cannot  choose  bur- 
obey,  and  the  woman  who  has  shared  with  us  the  moral  senti 
ment,  —  her  locks  must  appear  to  us  sublime.  Thus  there  U 
a  climbing  scale  of  culture,  from  the  first  aim-cable  sensation 
which  a  sparkling  gem  or  a  scarlet  stain  affords  the  eye,  up 
through  fair  outlines  and  details  of  the  landscape,  features  of 
the  human  face  and  form,  signs  and  tokens  of  thought  and 
character  in  manners,  np  to  the  ineffable  mysteries  of  the 
intellect.  Wherever  we  begin,  thither  our  steps  tend  :  an 
ascent  from  the  joy  of  a  horse  in  his  trappings,  up  to  the  per 
ception  of  Newton,  that  the  globe  on  which  we  ride  is  only  a 
larLT'T  apple  falling  from  a  larger  tree  ;  np  to  the  perception  of 
1'1-ito,  that  globe  and  universe  are  rude  and  early  expressions 
of  an  all-dissolving  Unity,  — the  first  stair  on  the  scale  to  tho 
temple  of  the  Mind. 


IX. 

ILLUSIONS 


Flow,  flow  the  waves  hated, 

Accursed,  admvd, 

The  waves  of  mutation: 

No  anchorage  is. 

Sleep  is  not,  death  is  not; 

Who  seem  to  die  live. 

House  you  were  born  in, 

Friends  of  your  spring-time, 

Old  man  arid  young  maid, 

pay's  toil  and'  its  guerdon, 

They  are  all  vanishing, 

Fleeing  to  fables, 

Cannot  be  moored. 

See  the  stars  through  them, 

Through  treacherous  marbles. 

Know,"  the  stars  yonder, 

The  stars  everlasting, 

Are  fugitive  also, 

And  emulate,  vaulted. 

The  lambent  heat-lightning, 

And  fire-fly's  flight. 

When  thou  dost  return 
On  the  wave's  circulation, 
Beholding  the  shimmer, 
The  wild  dissipation, 
And,  out  of  endeavor 
To  change  and  to  flow, 
The  gas  becomes  solid, 
And  phantoms  and  nothings 
Return  to  be  things 
And  endless  imbroglio 
I<  law  and  the  world,  — 
Then  first  shalt  thou  know, 
That  in  the  wild  turmoil, 
Hor-r-d  on  the  Protein, 
Thou  ridest  to  power, 
And  to  endurance. 


VOL.   II.  21 


ILLUSIONS. 


SOME  years  ago,  in  company  with  an  agreeable  party,  I 
spent  a  long  summer  day  in  exploring  the  Mammoth  Cave 
in  Kentucky.  We  traversed,  through  spacious  galleries  af 
fording  a  solid  masonry  foundation  for  the  town  and  county 
overhead,  the  six  or  eight  black  miles  from  the  mouth  of  the 
cavern  to  the  innermost  recess  which  tourists  visit,  —  a  niche 
or  grotto  made  of  one  seamless  stalactite,  and  called,  I  believe, 
Serena's  Bower.  I  lost  the  light  of  one  day.  I  saw  high 
domes,  and  bottomless  pits  ;  heard  the  voice  of  unseen  water- 
Mis  ;  paddled  three  quarters  of  a  mile  hi  the  deep  Echo 
River,  whose  waters  are  peopled  with  the  blind  fish  ;  crossed 
the  streams  "  Lethe  "  and  "  Styx  "  ;  plied  with  music  and  guns 
the  echoes  in  these  alarming  galleries ;  saw  every  form  of 
stalagmite  and  stalactite  in  the  sculptured  and  fretted  cham 
bers, —  icicle,  orange-flower,  acanthus,  grapes,  and  snowball. 
We  shot  Bengal  lights  into  the  vaults  and  groins  of  the  sparry 
cathedrals,  and  examined  all  the  masterpieces  which  the  four 
combined  engineers,  water,  limestone,  gravitation,  and  time, 
could  make  in  the  dark. 

The  mysteries  and  scenery  of  the  cave  had  the  same  dignity 
that  belongs  to  all  natural  objects,  and  which  shames  the  fine 
things  to  which  we  foppishly  compare  them.  I  remarked,  es 
pecially,  the  mimetic  habit,  with  which  Nature,  on  new  in 
struments,  hums  her  old  tunes,  making  night  to  mimic  day, 
and  chemistry  to  ape  vegetation.  But  I  then  took  notice,  and 
still  chiefly  remember,  that  the  best  thing  which  the  cave  bad 
to  offer  was  an  illusion.  On  arriving  at  what  is  called  the 
"  Star-Chamber,"  our  lamps  were  taken  from  us  by  the  guide, 
and  extinguished  or  put  aside,  and,  on  looking  upwards,  I 
saw  or  seemed  to  see  the  night  heaven  thick  with  stars  glim 
mering  more  or  less  brightly  over  our  heads,  and  even  what 


484  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

seemed  a  comet  flaming  among  them.  All  the  party  were 
touched  with  astonishment  and  pleasure.  Our  musical  friends 
sung  with  much  feeling  a  pretty  song,  "  The  stars  are  in  the 
quiet  sky,"  &c.,  and  I  sat  down  on  the  rocky  floor  to  enjoy 
the  serene  picture.  Some  crystal  specks  in  the  black  ceiling 
high  overhead,  reflecting  the  light  of  a  half-hid  lamp,  yielded 
this  magnificent  effect. 

I  own,  I  did  not  like  the  cave  so  well  for  eking  out  its  sub 
limities  with  this  theatrical  trick.  But  I  have  had  many  ex 
periences  like  it,  before  and  since  ;  and  we  must  be  content  to 
be  pleased  without  too  curiously  analyzing  the  occasions.  Our 
conversation  with  Nature  is  not  just  what  it  seems.  The 
cloud-rack,  the  sunrise  and  sunset  glories,  rainbows  and 
northern  lights,  are  not  quite  so  spheral  as  our  childhood 
thought  them ;  and  the  part  our  organization  plays  in  them  is 
too  large.  The  senses  interfere  everywhere,  and  mix  their 
own  structure  with  all  they  report  of.  Once,  we  fancied  the 
earth  a  plane,  and  stationary.  In  admiring  the  sunset,  we 
do  not  yet  deduct  the  rounding,  co-ordinating,  pictorial  powers 
of  .the  eye. 

,/ The  same  interference  from  our  organization  creates  the  most 
of  our  pleasure  and  pain.  Our  first  mistake  is  the  belief  that 
the  circumstance  gives  the  joy  which  we  give  to  the  circum 
stance.  Life  is  an  ecstasy.  Life  is  sweet  as  nitrous  oxide ; 
and  the  fisherman  dripping  all  day  over  a  cold  pond,  the 
switchman  at  the  railway  intersection,  the  farmer  in  the  field, 
the  negro  in  the  rice-swamp,  the  fop  in  the  street,  the  hunter 
in  the  woods,  the  barrister  with  the  jury,  the  belle  at  the  ball, 
all  ascribe  a  certain  pleasure  to  their  employment,  which  they 
themselves  give  it.  Health  and  appetite  impart  the  sweetness 
to  sugar,  bread,  and  meat.  We  fancy  that  our  civilization  has 
got  on  far,  but  we  still  come  back  to  our  primers. 

We  live  by  our  imaginations,  by  our  admirations,  by  our 
sentiments.  The  child  walks  amid  heaps  of  illusions,  which 
he  does  not  like  to  have  disturbed.  The  boy,  how  sweet  to 
him  is  his  fancy !  how  dear  the  story  of  barons  and  battles  ! 
What  a  hero  he  is,  whilst  he  feeds  on  his  heroes !  What  a 
debt  is  his  to  imaginative  books  !  He  has  no  better  friend 
or  influence,  than  Scott,  Shakespeare,  Plutarch,  and  Homer. 
The  man  lives  to  other  objects,  but  who  dare  affirm  that  they 
are  more  real  ?  Even  the  prose  of  the  streets  is  full  of  refrac 
tions.  In  the  life  of  the  dreariest  alderman,  fancy  enters  into 
all  details,  and  colors  them  with  rosy  hue.  He  imitates  tha 


ILLUSIONS.  485 

air  and  actions  of  people  whom  he  admires,  and  is  raised  in, 
his  own  eyes.  IK-  pays  a  debt  quicker  to  a  rich  man  than  to 
a  poor  man.  He  wishes  tin-  bow  and  compliment  of  some 
leader  in  the  state,  or  in  .society  ;  weighs  what  In-  says;  per 
haps  he  never  OOmee  nearer  to  him  for  that,  but  dies  at  last 
hetter  contented  lor  this  amusement  of  his  eyes  and  his 
fancy. 

The  world  rolls,  the  din  of  life  is  never  hushed.  In  Lon 
don,  in  Paris,  in  Boston,  in  San  Francisco,  the  carnival,  the 
masquerade,  is  at  its  height.  Nobody  drops  his  domino.  The 
unities,  the  fictions  of  the  piece,  it  would  be  an  impertinence 
to  break.  The  chapter  of  fascinations  is  very  long.  Crcat  is 
paint  ;  nay,  God  is  the  painter  ;  and  we  rightly  accuse  the 
critic  who  destroys  too  many  illusions.  Society  does  not  love 
its  unrnaskcrs.  It  was  wittily,  if  somewhat  bitterly,  said  by 
IXAlembert,  "qifun  (t<it  <l,  vapeur  iCaA  un  ctat  trfa  fdcheufr, 
•  •///*//  mma  j'-iifnit  voir  l& chose*  commt  dies  font"  I  find 
men  victims  of  illusion  in  all  parts  of  life.  Children,  youths, 
adults,  and  old  men.  all  are  led  by  one  hawblc  or  another. 
Toganidra,  the  goddess  of  illusion,  Proteus,  or  Momus,  or 
(Jylii's  Mocking,-  tor  the  Power  has  many  names,  —  is 
stronger  than  the  Titans,  stronger  than  Apollo.  Few  have 
overheard  the  gods,  or  surprised  their  secret.  Life  is  a  suc 
cession  of  lessons  which  must  be  lived  to  be  understood.  All 
is  riddle,  and  the  key  to  a  riddle  is  another  riddle.  There 
are  as  nianv  pillows  of  illusion  as  flakes  in  a  snow-storm.  AVe 
wake  from  one  dream  into  another  dream.  The  toys,  to  be 
sure,  are  various,  and  are  graduated  in  refinement  to  the 
quality  of  the  dupe.  The  intellectual  man  requires  a  fine 
bait;  the  sots  are  easily  amused.  But  everybody  is  dr 
with  his  own  fn-n/y.  and  the  pageant  marches  at  all  hours, 
with  music  and  banner  and  badge. 

Amid  the  joyous  troop  who  give  in  to  the  charivari  comes 
lio\v  and  then  a  sad-eyed  boy,  \vho>e  eyes  lack  the  requisite 
refractions  to  clothe  the  show  in  due  glory,  and  who  is  afflicted 
with  a  tendency  to  trace  home  the  glittering  miso  llany  of 
fruits  and  flowers  to  one  root.  Science  is  a  search  after  iden 
tity,  and  the  scientific  whim  is  lurking  in  all  corners.  At  the 
State  Fair,  a  friend  of  mine  complained  that  all  the  varieties 
of  fancy  pears  in  our  orchards  Beem  t«>  have  been  selected  by 
Somebody  who  had  a  whim  for  a  particular  kind  of  pear,  and 
only  cultivated  such  as  had  that  perfume.  ;  they  were  all  alike. 
And  I  remember  the  quarrel  of  another  youth  with  the  con- 


486  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

fectioners,  that,  when  he  racked  his  wit  to  choose  the  best 
comfits  in  the  shops,  in  all  the  endless  varieties  of  sweetmeat 
he  could  only  find  three  flavors,  or  two.  What  then  1  Pears 
and  cakes  are  good  for  something ;  and  because  you,  unluckily, 
have  an  eye  or  nose  too  keen,  why  need  you  spoil  the  comfort 
which  the  rest  of  us  find  in  them  1  I  knew  a  humorist,  who, 
in  a  good  deal  of  rattle,  had  a  grain  or  two  of  sense.  He 
shocked  the  company  by  maintaining  that  the  attributes  of 
God  were  two,  —  power  and  risibility  ;  and  that  it  was  the  duty 
of  every  pious  man  to  keep  up  the  comedy.  And  I  have  known 
gentlemen  of  great  stake  in  the  community,  but  whose  sympa 
thies  were  cold,  —  presidents  of  colleges,  and  governors,  and 
senators,  —  who  held  themselves  bound  to  sign  every  temper 
ance  pledge,  and  act  with  Bible  societies,  and  missions,  and 
peacemakers,  and  cry  Ilist-a-boy !  to  every  good  dog.  We 
must  not  carry  comity  too  far,  but  we  all  have  kind  impulses 
in  this  direction.  When  the  boys  come  into  my  yard  for  leave 
to  gather  horse-chestnuts,  I  own  I  enter  into  Nature's  game, 
and  affect  to  grant  the  permission  reluctantly,  fearing  that  any 
moment  they  will  find  out  the  imposture  of  that  showy  chuff. 
But  this  tenderness  is  quite  unnecessary;  the  enchantments 
are  laid  on  very  thick.  Their  young  life  is  thatched  with  them. 
Bare  and  grim  to  tears  is  the  lot  of  the  children  in  the  hovel 
I  saw  yesterday  ;  yet  not  the  less  they  hung  it  round  with 
frippery  romance,  like  the  children  of  the  happiest  fortune,  and 
talked  of  "  the  dear  cottage  where  so  many  joyful  hours  had 
flown."  Well,  this  thatching  of  hovels  is  the  custom  of  the 
country.  Women,  more  than  all,  are  the  element  and  king 
dom  of  illusion.  Being  fascinated,  they  fascinate.  They  see 
through  Claude-Lorraines.  And  how  dare  any  one,  if  he  could, 
pluck  away  the  coulisses,  stage  effects,  and  ceremonies,  by  which 
they  live  1  Too  pathetic,  too  pitiable,  is  the  region  of  affection, 
and  its  atmosphere  always  liable  to  mirage. 

We  are  not  very  much  to  blame  for  our  bad  marriages.  We 
live  amid  hallucinations  ;  and  this  especial  trap  is  laid  to  trip 
x-"u[)  our  ft^t  with,  and  all  are  tripped  up  first  or  last.  But  the 
mighty  Mother  who  had  been  so  sly  with  us,  as  if  she  felt  that 
she  owed  us  some  indemnity,  insinuates  into  the  Pandora-box 
of  marriage  some  deep  and  serious  benefits,  and  some  great 
joys.  We  find  a  delight  in  the  beauty  and  happiness  of  chil 
dren,  that  makes  the  heart  too  big  for  the  body.  In  the  worst- 
assorted  connections  there  is  ever  some  mixture  of  true  mar 
riage.  Teague  and  his  jade  get  some  just  relations  of  mutual 


ILLUSIONS.  437 

respect,  kindly  observation,  and  fostering  of  each  other,  learn 
something,  and  would  carry  themselves  wiselier,  if  they  were 
now  to  begin. 

'T  is  fine  for  us  to  point  at  one  or  another  fine  madman,  as 
if  there  were  any  exempts.  The  scholar  in  his  library  is  none. 
I,  who  have  all  my  life  heard  any  number  of  orations  and  de 
bates,  read  poems  and  miscellaneous  books,  conversed  with 
many  geniuses,  am  still  the  victim  of  any  new  page  ;  and,  if 
Marmaduke,  or  Hugh,  or  Moosehead,  or  any  other,  invent  a 
new  style  or  mythology,  I  fancy  that  the  world  will  be  all  brave 
and  right,  if  dressed  in  these  colors,  which  I  had  not  thought  of. 
Then  at  once  I  will  daub  with  this  new  paint;  but  it  will  not 
stick.  'T  is  like  the  cement  which  the  pedler  sells  at  the  door ; 
he  makes  broken  crockery  hold  with  it,  but  you  can  never  buy 
of  him  a  bit  of  the  cement  which  will  make  it  hold  when  he 
is  gone. 

Men  who  make  themselves  felt  in  the  world  avail  themselves 
of  a  certain  fate  in  their  constitution,  which  they  know  how  to 
use.  But  they  never  deeply  interest  us,  unless  they  lift  a 
corner  of  the  curtain,  or  betray  never  so  slightly  their  penetra 
tion  of  what  is  behind  it.  'Tis  the  charm  of  practical  men, 
that  outside  of  their  practicality  are  a  certain  poetry  and  play, 
as  if  they  led  the  good  horse  Power  by  the  bridle,  and  preferred 
to  walk,  though  they  can  ride  so  fiercely.  Bonaparte  is  intel 
lectual,  as  well  as  Ceesar ;  and  the  best  soldiers,  sea-captains, 
and  railway  men,  have  a  gentleness,  when  off  duty ;  a  good- 
natured  admission  that  there  are  illusions,  and  who  shall  say 
that  he  is  not  their  sport  1  We  stigmatize  the  cast-iron  fel- 
li>\vs  who  cannot  so  detach  themselves,  as  "dragon-ridden," 
"  thunder-stricken,"  and  fools  of  fate,  with  whatever  powers 
endowed. 

Since  our  tuition  is  through  emblems  and  indirections,  't  is 
well  to  know  that  there  is  method  in  it,  a  fixed  scale,  and  rank 
above  rank  in  the  phantasms.  We  beirin  low  with  coarse 
masks,  and  rise  to  the  most  subtle  and  beautiful.  The  red 
men  told  Columbus,  "  they  had  an  herb  which  took  away 
fatigue  "  ;  but  he  found  the  allusion  of  "  arriving  from  th 
at  the  Indies"  more  composing  to  his  lofty  spirit  than  any 
tobacco.  Is  not  our  faith  in  the  impenetrability  of  matter  more 
sedative  than  narcotics']  You  play  with  jack-straws,  halls, 
bowls,  horse  and  iruu.  estates  and  politics  ;  but  there  are  finer 
games  before  you.  Is  not  time  a  pretty  toy  1  Life  will  show 
you  masks  that  are  worth  all  your  carnivals.  Yonder  moun- 


488  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

tain  must  migrate  into  your  mind.  The  fine  star-dust  and 
nebulous  blur  in  Orion,  "the  portentous  year  of  Mizar  and  Al- 
cor,"  must  come  down  and  be  dealt  with  in  your  household 
thought.  What  if  you  shall  come  to  discern  that  the  play  and 
playground  of  all  this  pompous  history  are  radiations  from 
yourself,  and  that  the  sun  borrows  his  beams  1  What  terrible 
questions  we  are  learning  to  ask !  The  former  men  believed 
in  magic,  by  which  temples,  cities,  and  men  were  swallowed 
up,  and  all  trace  of  them  gone.  We  are  coming  on  the  secret 
of  a  magic  which  sweeps  out  of  men's  minds  all  vestige  of 
theism  and  beliefs  which  they  and  their  fathers  held  and  were 
framed  upon. 

There  are  deceptions  of  the  senses,  deceptions  of  the  passions, 
and  the  structural,  beneficent  illusions  of  sentiment  and  of  the 
intellect.  There  is  the  illusion  of  love,  which  attributes  to  the 
beloved  person  all  which  that  person  shares  with  his  or  her 
family,  sex,  age,  or  condition,  nay  with  the  human  mind  itself. 
'T  is  these  which  the  lover  loves,  and  Anna  Matilda  gets  the 
credit  of  them.  As  if  one  shut  up  always  in  a  tower,  with  one 
window,  through  which  the  face  of  heaven  and  earth  could  be 
seen,  should  fancy  that  all  the  marvels  he  beheld  belonged  to 
that  window.  There  is  the  illusion  of  time,  which  is  very  deep ; 
who  has  disposed  of  it  ?  or  come  to  the  conviction  that  what 
seems  the  succession  of  thought  is  only  the  distribution  of 
wholes  into  causal  series  1  The  intellect  sees  that  every  atom 
carries  the  whole  of  Nature  ;  that  the  mind  opens  to  omnipo 
tence  ;  that,  in  the  endless  striving  and  ascents,  the  metamor 
phosis  is  entire,  so  that  the  soul  doth  not  know  itself  in  its 
own  act,  when  that  act  is  perfected.  There  is  illusion  that 
shall  deceive  even  the  elect.  There  is  illusion  that  shall  deceive 
even  the  performer  of  the  miracle.  Though  he  make  his  body, 
he  denies  that  he  makes  it.  Though  the  world  exist  from 
thought,  thought  is  daunted  in  presence  of  the  world.  One 
after  the  other  we  accept  the  mental  laws,  still  resisting  those 
which  follow,  which  however  must  be  accepted.  But  all  our 
concessions  only  compel  us  to  new  profusion.  And  what  avails 
it  that  science  has  come  to  treat  space  and  time  as  simply 
forms  of  thought,  and  the  material  world  as  hypothetical,  and 
withal  our  pretension  of  property  and  even  of  selfhood  are 
fading  with  the  rest,  if,  at  last,  even  our  thoughts  are  not 
finalities  ;  but  the  incessant  flowing  and  ascension  reach  these 
also,  and  each  thought  which  yesterday  was  a  finality,  to-day 
is  yielding  to  a  larger  generalization  ? 


ILLUSIONS.  489 

With  such  volatile  elements  to  work  in,  't  is  no  wonder  if 

our  estimates  are  loose  ami  floating.  Wo  must  work  and  atlirm, 
but  we  have  no  guess  of  the  value  of  what  we  say  or  do.  The 
cloud  is  now  as  big  as  your  hand,  and  now  it  covers  a  county. 
That  story  of  Thor,  who  was  set  to  drain  the  drinking-horn  in 
I'd,  and  to  wrestle  with  the  old  woman,  and  to  run  with 
tin-  runner  Lok,  and  presently  found  that  he  had  been  drink 
ing  up  the  sea,  and  wrestling  with  Time,  and  racing  with 
Thought,  describes  us  who  are  contending,  amid  these  seeming 
trifles,  with  the  supreme  energies  of  Nature.  ^VVe  fancy  we 
have  fallen  into  bad  company  and  squalid  conditionTlow  debts, 
shoe-bills,  broken  glass  to  pay  for,  pots  to  buy,  butcher's  meat, 
;  r,  milk,  and  coal.  '  Set  me  some  great  task,  ye  gods  !  and 
1  will  show  my  spirit.'  '  Not  so,'  says  the  good  Heaven; 
1  plod  and  plough,  vamp  your  old  coats  and  hats,  weave  a  shoe 
string  ;  great  affairs  and  the  best  wine  by  and  by.'  Well,  't  is 
all  phantasm  ;  and  if  we  weave  a  yard  of  tape  in  all  humility, 
and  as  well  as  we  can,  long  hereafter  we  shall  see  it  was  no  cot 
ton  tape  at  all,  but  some  galaxy  which  we  braided,  and  that 
the  threads  were -Time  and  Nature. 

We  cannot  write  the  order  of  the  variable  winds.  How  can 
w  '  penetrate  the  law  of  our  shifting  moods  and  susceptibility  ] 
Yet  they  differ  as  all  and  nothing.  Instead  of  the  lirmament 
of  yesterday,  which  our  eyes  require,  it  is  to-day  an  eggshell 
which  coops  us  in  ;  we  cannot  even  see  what  or  where  our 
stars  of  destiny  are.  From  day  to  day,  the  capital  facts  of 
human  life  are  hidden  from  our  eyes.  Suddenly  the  mist  rolls 
up,  and  reveals  them,  and  we  think  how  much  good  time  is 
guile,  that  might  have  been  saved,  had  any  hint  of  these  things 
been  shown.  A  sudden  rise  in  the  road  shows  us  the  system 
of  mountains,  and  all  the  summits,  which  have  been  just  as 
near  us  all  the  year,  but  quite  out  of  mind.  But  these  alter 
nations  are  not  without  their  order,  and  we  are  parties  to  our 
various  fortune.  If  life  seem  a  succession  of  dreams,  yet 
poetic  justice  is  done  in  dreams  also.  The  visions  of  good  men 
are  good;  it  is  the  undisciplined  will  that  is  whipped  with  bad 
thoughts  and  bad  fortunes.  When  we  break  tin-  laws,  we  lose 
our  hold  on  the  central  reality.  Like  sick  men  in  hospitals, 
we  change  only  from  bed  to  i>cd.  from  one  folly  to  another  ; 
•md  it  cannot  signify  much  what  becomes  of  such  castaw.-i 
—  wailing,  stupid,  comatose  ft  — lifted  from  bed  to 

\u?d,  from  the  nothing  of  life  to  the  nothing  of  death. 

In  this  kingdom  of  illusions  we  grope  e  ;-«  rlv  for  stavs  and 
^ 


490  CONDUCT   OF  LIFE. 

foundations.  There  is  none  but  a  strict  and  faithful  dealing 
at  home,  and  a  severe  barring  out  of  all  duplicity  or  illusion 
there.  Whatever  games  are  played  with  us,  we  must  play  no 
games  with  ourselves,  but  deal  in  our  privacy  with  the  last 
honesty  and  truth.  I  look  upon  the  simple  and  childish  vir 
tues  of  veracity  and  honesty  as  the  root  of  all  that  is  sublime 
in  character.!!  Speak  as  you  think,  be  what  you  are,  pay  your 
debts  of  all  kinds.  I  prefer  to  be  owned  as  sound  and  sol 
vent,  and  my  word  as  good  as  my  bond,  and  to  be  what  can 
not  be  skipped,  or  dissipated,  or  undermined,  to  all  the  eclat 
in  the  universe.  This  reality  is  the  foundation  of  friendship, 
religion,  poetry,  and  art.  At  the  top  or  at  the  bottom  of  all 
illusions,  I  set  the  cheat  which  still  leads  us  to  work  and  live 
for  appearances,  in  spite  of  our  conviction,  in  all  sane  hours, 
that  it  is  what  we  really  are  that  avails  with  friends,  with 
strangers,  and  with  fate  or  fortune. 

One  would  think  from  the  talk  of  men,  that  riches  and  pov 
erty  were  a  great  matter ;  and  our  civilization  mainly  respects 
it.  But  the  Indians  say,  that  they  do  not  think  the  white 
man  with  his  brow  of  care,  always  toiling,  *afraid  of  heat  and 
cold,  and  keeping  within  doors,  has  any  advantage  of  them. 
//The  permanent  interest  of  every  man  is,  never  to  be  in  a  false 
'I position,  but  to  have  the  weight  of  Nature  to  back  him  in  all 
1  that  he  does.  Riches  and  poverty  are  a  thick  or  thin  cos 
tume  ;  and  our  life  —  the  life  of  all  of  us  —  identical.  For 
we  transcend  the  circumstance  continually,  and  taste  the  real 
quality  of  existence  ;  as  in  our  employments,  which  only  differ 
in  the  manipulations,  but  express  the  same  laws ;  or  in  our 
thoughts,  which  wear  no  silks,  and  taste  no  ice-creams.  We 
see  God  face  to  face  every  hour,  and  know  the  savor  of  Nature. 

The  early  Greek  philosophers  Heraclitus  and  Xenophanes 
measured  their  force  on  this  problem  of  identity.  Diogenes 
of  Apollonia  said,  that  unless  the  atoms  were  made  of  one 
stuff,  they  could  never  blend  and  act  with  one  another.  But 
the  Hindoos,  in  their  sacred  writings,  express  the  liveliest  feel 
ing,  both  of  the  essential  identity,  and  of  that  illusion  which 
they  conceive  variety  to  be.  "  The  notions,  '  /  am,'  and  '  This 
is  mine?  which  influence  mankind,  are  but  delusions  of  the 
mother  of  the  world.  Dispel,  0  Lord  of  all  creatures  ! 
the  conceit  of  knowledge  which  proceeds  from  ignorance." 
And  the  beatitude  of  man  they  hold  to  lie  in  being  freed  from 
fascination. 

The  intellect  is  stimulated  by  the  statement  .of  truth  in  a 


ILLI'SIONS.  491 

trope,  and  the  will  by  clothing  the  laws  of  life  in  illusions. 
J'.ut  the  unities  of  Truth  and  of  Ulght  an-  not  broken  by  the 
disguise,  There  need  never  IK-  any  confusion  in  these.  In  a 
crowded  life  of  many  parts  and  performers,  on  a  stage  of  na 
tions,  or  in  the  obscurest  hamlet  in  Maine  or  California,  the 
same  elements  offer  the  same  choices  to  each  new-comer,  and, 
according  to  his  election,  he  fixes  his  fortune  in  absolute  Na 
ture.  It  would  be  hard  to  put  more  mental  and  moral  philos 
ophy  than  the  Persians  have  thrown  into  a  sentence  :  — 

"  Fooled  thou  must  !><-.  though  wix'-t  of  the  wise: 
Then  be  the  tool  of  virtue,  not  of  vice." 

There  is  no  chance,  and  no  anarchy,  in  the  universe.  All 
is  system  and  gradation.  Every  god  is  there  sitting  in  his 
sphere.  The  young  mortal  enters  the  hall  of  the  firmament ; 
there  is  he  alone  with  them  alone,  they  pouring  on  him  bene 
dictions  and  gifts,  and  beckoning  him  up  to  their  thrones.  On 
the  instant,  and  incessantly,  fall  snow-storms  of  illusions.  He 
fancies  himself  in  avast  crowd  which  sways  this  way  and  that, 
and  whose  movement  and  doings  he  must  obey  :  he  fancies 
himself  poor,  orphaned,  insignificant.  The  mad  crowd  drives 
hither  and  thither,  now  furiously  commanding  this  thing  to  be 
done,  now  that.  What  is  he  that  he  should  resist  their  will, 
and  think  or  act  for  himself?  Every  moment,  new  changes, 
and  new  showers  of  deceptions,  to  baffle  and  distract  him. 
And  when,  by  and  by,  for  an  instant,  the  air  clears,  and  the 
cloud  lifts  a  little,  there  are  the  gods  still  sitting  around  him 
on  their  thrones,  —  they  alone  with  him  alone. 


THE  END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

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This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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LD  2l-100m-9,'47(A5702sl6)476 


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